Beck Strikes Back
by Zola1
Summary: In which the prodigal son returns.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Big O, but I love it.

This story is one of a series of short stories and vignettes being posted to the "Story a Day" thread in the Amadeus Bar and Grill forum at the Save Big O website (see my profile for the link since the site won't let me put it here) . It was intended as a one shot, but one of these days, I may revisit Jason Beck and his evil plan.

Feedback is welcomed.

**Beck Strikes Back**

Beck took a long drag off his cigarette. So, Crow Boy was on the job. He spat in disgust. This meant a great deal of additional inconvenience.

Roger Smith. Hah! Jason Beck had once had ideals. Unlike Smith, though, he hadn't had rich foster parents to put him through school and make sure he met all the right people.

People like him made Beck sick, so high and mighty and sure of themselves. What did _they_ know about suffering? An empty belly did wonders for making one's morals slightly more _flexible_.

He'd like to see how Roger Smith would fare should the tables be turned. The fantasy gave him a great deal of satisfaction. He could picture himself dressed in an expensive suit, perfectly tailored, with a solid, respectable job--a banker, perhaps!

He could just imagine Roger Smith staggering in as a sorry bum; no money, no android, and more importantly, no megadeus. Who would Mr. Paradigm City Negotiator be then? He'd be like Beck was now, a two-bit nobody hustling to survive.

In his fantasy, Jason would be kind, patient and understanding. After all, he knew what it was like to be without. And then he'd have security throw Smith's sorry ass right back out on to the street!

He frowned. Landing such a job was highly improbable. With his background, a bank wouldn't likely trust him to empty the trash, let alone manage money. There had to be a way of taking Smith down a peg, though!

A sudden thought struck him. Roger Smith's ace in the hole was his reputation. Beck had previously toyed with the idea of starting a rumor that Smith had welshed on a deal or taken a bribe, but had regretfully decided that no one would believe it, especially not coming from him.

Smith now had a weak spot, though, in the petite form of R. Dorothy Wayneright. Beck had inspected her programming thoroughly, and to put it in the kindest possible terms, Timothy Wayneright had been a complete pervert.

The virginal-looking creature that Wayneright had paraded through the city as his granddaughter was a veritable walking Kama Sutra, fully functional and solely designed to make a man's eyes roll back in his head and leave him screaming for mercy.

She likely hadn't said anything to Smith about it--she was clearly enjoying playing Lady Fair to his Knight in Shining Armor. Beck couldn't really blame her. After living as the plaything of a disgusting old man like Wayneright, she probably wanted to completely forget about those particular experiences.

Still, Beck found it hard to believe that Crow Boy hadn't at least sampled her charms. Why else would he have been so embarrassed and defensive when Beck had referred to her as his android lover?

Jason wouldn't have hesitated had he been in Smith's shoes. R. Dorothy Wayneright was, after all, the ultimate in high tech toys. Beck adored high tech toys, and played with them at every opportunity.

People were already whispering about Smith's relationship with his android. It would be very easy to turn those whispers into outright gossip, especially if he arranged for them to be caught in a compromising situation.

Once word got around that Smith was doing the horizontal Lambada with his mechanical maid, that would be the end of his credibility. Mr. Paradigm City Negotiator would be lucky if he could get a job negotiating groceries into a paper bag after that.

Even more to the point, Smith would be the laughingstock of Paradigm City, and that alone made it worth pursuing.

It should be simple enough to arrange. The android fancied herself in love with Smith already. It would be very easy to implant a couple of triggers, to be activated at the proper moment. The artistry of it appealed to him. He didn't even have to kidnap her, all he had to do was transmit the necessary commands. Since she was already leaning that way, she would have no idea that he had tampered with her.

"Jason Beck, you're a genius!" he congratulated himself as he clapped his feet gleefully. When he'd finally composed himself, he got up off the ground and took one last drag of his cigarette. He tossed the butt down to the ground and stepped on it before heading back inside.

_To be continued?_


	2. Chapter 2

_All right, you convinced me. It took me a while to come up with a sufficiently Rube Gold"Beck"ian plan, but I have tried my best. Next installment at some point in the reasonably near future._

_Feedback is always appreciated!_

* * *

"Norman!" Roger called impatiently.

"What is it, sir?" the butler appeared in the doorway a moment later.

"Is there something wrong with Dorothy?" Roger asked. When he had come home, instead of greeting him and taking her place at the piano as had become her recent custom, she had shot him a look that would have peeled paint and announced she was going to the market. It seemed unwise, under the circumstances, to point out to her that the market was already closed, so he had called for his faithful servant instead.

"Oh, dear," Norman frowned. "Sir? You're quite late tonight. Did you forget?"

"Forget what?" Roger tried to ignore the whisper of a memory in the back of his mind of Norman reminding him that he was to be home this evening by a certain time because he was supposed to... "Oh... no!" he groaned. "Why didn't you just call me?"

"Sir, I tried, but you didn't answer," the butler said.

"The area I was investigating must have been in one of the dead zones." Roger muttered a curse under his breath. There weren't many places in the city where he couldn't be reached by his watch or the car radio, but he had obviously just discovered a new one. Well, there was no help for it. He would have to go after her and beg for forgiveness.

"I'll be back as soon as possible," he told Norman, heading towards the door at a brisk pace. There was no point in him taking the Griffon, she would see it and do her best to avoid him. He had a better chance of finding her if he was on foot.

* * *

It took him more than an hour to track her down, and it was sheer luck he had spotted her on the roof of one of the abandoned buildings only a few blocks away from Smith Mansion. She was looking the other way, and he was quick to duck into the doorway before she saw him and found another hiding place. 

He climbed the stairs and came through the door on the roof, which wasn't locked. "I'm sorry," he said to her back.

"Kindly leave me alone, Roger Smith," she said coldly, without turning around. "I have nothing to say to you."

"It was inexcusable of me," he continued towards her.

"Yes, it was," she agreed. "I have asked you to leave me alone. What else is it that I have to say to satisfy you so that you will do as I ask?"

"Tell me that you accept my apology?" he said hopefully. It didn't hurt to try.

"I can say that if you wish, but it would be a lie," she said.

Roger took a deep breath, preparing himself for drastic measures. Clearly, nothing short of abject groveling would do. He was close enough now to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. "I am truly sorry," he said. "If there's any way I can make it up to you..."

He was taken aback when he caught the glint of tears as she turned her head away. Had it hurt her so badly, then? It was only the second time he had seen Dorothy cry in all the time he had known her. This time he did not make the mistake of assuming she needed repair, nor was he so foolish as to insist that she go down to the shop so Norman could take care of it at once. These prior errors of judgment had subjected him to days of her sarcasm and surly attitude.

He was no less disquieted by it than he had been the first time he had seen it, though. For good or for ill, it seemed R. Dorothy Wayneright had somehow developed the capacity to cry if she was sufficiently upset. He didn't know if he would ever get used to it, and he preferred to avoid it if at all possible.

"When we decided that perhaps it was wiser that we not appear together in public for a time," she said, as calmly as if she were commenting on the weather, "I didn't think the agreement extended to something as innocent as a birthday celebration."

"It didn't," he put his arms around her without hesitation, furious at himself for upsetting her so badly. "I am so sorry, Dorothy." He held her close, frantically trying to figure out a way to make her stop looking at himthrough those teary eyes with their improbably long eyelashes. Even a white-hot glare was preferable to the way this expression was making him feel. "I got tied up with the investigation and it completely slipped my mind--and that's an explanation, not an excuse," he said, patting her shoulder comfortingly. "Norman apparently tried to get in touch with me, but the two-way wasn't getting through."

"I'm really getting tired of being stuck in the house," she admitted, relenting enough to lean her head against his shoulder. "Norman's been doing most of the marketing, and I don't go anywhere with you anymore."

"And I have to go and spoil your first chance to do something in weeks," Roger said,now completelymiserable. "Tonight was the last performance, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," Dorothy said, the tears finally slowing. "Perhaps there will be another show in a few months."

"That's not soon enough," Roger shook his head. "We can go then, of course, it's the least I can do, but isn't there anything you would really like to do this week?"

"I'd like to go somewhere that I can wear my new dress," she said wistfully. "It's very pretty, even if it is a terrible color."

"I'm sure we can find something," he said, letting the comment about the color slide. He liked how Dorothy looked in black; he thought it set off her copper hair and pale skin beautifully. He was shivering before he spoke again. "Are you ready to come home now? It's getting cold out here."

"You go ahead," she said. "I'll come along in a few minutes."

"Are you saying that because you actually want a few minutes, or because you're trying to keep to the agreement?" he asked.

"Because of the agreement," she said.

"Come on," he said, keeping an arm around her. "It was an idea that was worth trying, but it really hasn't made much difference, has it?"

She let him guide her to the door and they slowly walked down the stairs together. "No, it hasn't," she admitted. "That's why Norman has been doing most of the errands lately. If anything, it's gotten worse--now people say you're ashamed to be seen in public with me."

"I don't see why they can't just mind their own business," he said with disgust. The increasingly nasty gossip, openly derogatory comments and harassment had been what had brought her to tears the first time.

Although Roger himself didn't care what people thought, he made a poor target because he would fight back. As an android, Dorothy was another matter--people knew perfectly well that she wouldn't harm them. She was the one being called a whore and worse, and it had been she who had been pelted with rotten fruit by the gang of children who always seemed to be playing on one of the corners near the marketplace.

His first inclination had been to march over there and start demanding names and tracking down parents, but Norman had managed to calm him down enough that he had realized that doing something like that would only make it worse. He and Dorothy had finally decided to avoid appearing in public together for a few months to see if it didn't reduce some of the speculation about their relationship and give a new nine-day wonder a chance to capture people's interest. From what she was saying now, though, it clearly hadn't helped.

As they walked towards the mansion, he realized that Dorothy had not shrugged off his arm as she usually would have. He drew her a little closer, still feeling terrible about having been such a louse. Tonight, after dinner, they would do something that she enjoyed, play a game of Go or Chess, perhaps, and they could decide where they wanted to go so she could show off her new dress. The weekend would probably be the most enjoyable for her, that's when most clubs had some kind of live entertainment. Maybe there was a band she would like to see.

* * *

Jason Beck choked back his laughter as he watched Roger and Dorothy walk down the street, Roger's arm protectively around her shoulders and both of them _completely_ oblivious to anyone but each other. 

He had been tempted to create a program that would have Dorothy crawling over Crow-Boy like a cockroach who'd come across an open sack of sugar, but he had resisted the impulse. He had to work slowly and subtly so that the changes in the android's behavior seemed... if not natural, than at least perfectly logical.

He had carefully gone over the notes and recordings he'd made concerning her programming and come up with a fool-proof plan. The first step had been to override her tendency to hide her emotions, at least where Roger Smith was concerned.

It had been successful beyond his wildest dreams. The street urchins had been delighted to taunt Dorothy for a couple of bags of penny candy, and when he had seen her running away from them, tears streaming down her face, he had almost laughed himself sick.

The second step had only just been implemented, and it too seemed to be succeeding even better than he had hoped. He had placed a radio signal jammer in the area Crow-Boy had gone to inspect and seeded it with enough interesting bits and pieces to keep him fully absorbed in his investigation.

He had hoped that Smith would get caught up enough that he would be late. That he'd been so late that they couldn't go to the show at all was sheer icing on the cake. He'd caught Dorothy with the second remote program as she had stormed out of Smith Mansion--his latest effort had emphasized her tendency to seek comfort and reassurance from her Black Knight.

And of course, Mr. Paradigm-City Negotiator had risen to the occasion, going all masculine and protective-like for his weeping companion. It was just too perfect. This was the best plan he had ever come up with!

He was of half a mind to send the third program on the spot--it was ready--but he reminded himself that if he was too impatient, it could spoil everything. "Next week," he promised himself once the pair had gone back into Smith Mansion. "Wednesday at the latest, I'll start Stage Three." He couldn't wait to see how Crow-Boy reacted to Dorothy's soon-to-be open admiration.


	3. Chapter 3

_Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water...err... into Paradigm City..._

* * *

Beck growled in frustration. He had promised himself that he would transmit the latest alteration to Dorothy's programming by Wednesday at the latest, and it was already Saturday and he was no closer to doing it than he had been a week ago.

Since Dorothy and Roger had abandoned their "don't be seen together in public rule", they had been practically inseparable. Jason had toyed with the idea of creating another scene for them to investigate, but Dorothy's eyes were far sharper than Crow Boy's, and the things that had had that worthy completely interested and absorbed for hours wouldn't stand up to a nanosecond of her scrutiny.

It was important that she be distracted during the crucial instant when he sent the program and it cloaked itself in her upper memory block, doing its work thereafter in random bursts that went right along with the current load on her systems. Jason Beck was one of only a tiny handful of people who could program at that level, and he knew that a programmer's style of writing code was as unique as his fingerprints. The moment she started looking at the program, she would know it was his, and he'd be enjoying the warm hospitality of the Paradigm City Jail, a place he preferred to forget.

He shifted his cramped position irritably. What he needed right now was to get the kinks out of his legs so he could get the hell out of here without calling attention to himself by falling through the rickety wall and landing in the middle of the street. It was obvious they were spending the evening in tonight, there was little point in his hanging around any longer.

Wait! Was that the Griffon coming around the corner? It was. How gallant of Crow-Boy to bring the car around! Beck shifted again, aimed the transmitter and waited. Then he waited some more, and as if that weren't annoying enough, fifteen minutes later, they were still waiting. Smith was looking impatient now and Beck's arm was starting to shake with the effort of holding the device steady.

When the door opened and Dorothy stepped outside, Beck forgot his cramped muscles. He sucked in his breath between his teeth, clamping down hard on the slow, involuntary whistle of appreciation that was threatening to escape and prostrate itself at the feet of a Goddess.

She looked good. She looked more than good. She was wearing a knee-length confection of a little black dress that somehow managed to be simultaneously classy and an incitement to riot. Beck had forgotten just how curvaceous that slender body was, hidden as it usually was under the formal velvet and ruffled jabot of her usual attire.

She was wearing just enough makeup to enhance her appearance, a touch of blush, some eyeliner and some lipstick, nothing like the war paint that Wayneright had apparently found appealing. She'd lost the childish headband, too, and had drawn her hair up into a loose French roll on the back of her head. Some of the shorter pieces of hair had already charmingly escaped the pins that held them, leaving her looking invitingly tousled. A pair of dangly earrings that sparkled in the light completed the glorious picture.

Smith was standing there with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out, and for once, Beck completely agreed with him.

"I'm sorry to make keep you waiting," her voice carried clearly to Jason's hidey-hole. "Norman noticed the heel of my shoe seemed a little wobbly and he took it down to the workshop to repair it. He said it wouldn't do to have it break while we were dancing."

"Of course," Roger managed to pull it together enough to attempt to be charming. "It would be a terrible thing to be unable to dance with so lovely a partner." Dorothy raised one eyebrow at him as he opened the passenger side door, but made no further comment.

Beck had to be quick. He pressed the top button on the device as she took a step towards the car.

The result was so loud, it even startled him, and he'd been expecting it. "What the hell...?" As Roger and Dorothy turned towards the source of the noise, Jason hit the second button and then the third in rapid succession.

"Stupid construction bots," Roger said, disgusted, as they watched the robot come down the side of the building to retrieve the large steel bar that it had dropped. "It's a wonder somebody hasn't gotten killed." They watched for a few minutes more to be sure, but the area where the beam had fallen had been properly cordoned off, and the accident had only attracted a few curious bystanders. The bot had already gone back to wherever it had been working.

Roger turned and smiled at Dorothy. "It looks like there's been no harm done. Shall we?" he gestured towards the car.

Beck stifled his laughter with an effort. People never looked _up._ That construction bot had been patiently awaiting his signal to drop the steel beam for days, and no one had even noticed! Getting it to drop it on the side closest to the monstrosity Smith called a mansion had been child's play, as had been the routine to send it along that particular route to retrieve it. He congratulated himself on the smoothness of his timing. Dorothy had been oblivious to the signal, she hadn't even blinked.

It was a pity that this was the only spot that offered both a clear view and sufficient concealment. Jason groaned as his muscles gave notice of their disapproval by cramping themselves into knots. It would have been a lot more convenient to camp out in one of the apartments nearby, but the buildings best located for his purposes were still abandoned and his taking up residence would be remarked upon.

The next best thing had been this shed, tucked in the alleyway next to the building across the street. It had probably originally been built to shelter the stairs that led to the basement of the building, and later expanded to allow a limited amount of storage. The storage section was where he'd been crouching--the careful adjustment of several loose boards gave him a clear view of Smith's door and an opening with the perfect angle to aim a radio beam.

That it would have been equally easy to simply obtain a high-powered rifle, shoot Crow Boy and have done with it had occurred to him, but the solution lacked artistry, and Jason Beck was first and foremost an artist.

It had been the devil's own task to remove the doorknob without having the ancient, grimy wood show any signs of tampering, and it had been almost as difficult to get a key for it made and then put it back exactly the way it had been, but he had succeeded. The door was still solid enough that by the time someone managed to kick it down, he'd be long gone through the basement door.

He went through that door now, carefully bolting it behind him in case anyone took a mind to poke around. If someone looked carefully, they might be able to detect spots where he had disturbed the dust, but the building was drafty enough that there hadn't been all that much dust anyway.

It was a short walk through the boiler room to the tunnel that had been built for God only knew what reason--access to a bomb shelter, perhaps? It didn't really matter now. It was convenient and brought him across the street to the basement of another building, also uninhabited From there it was two blocks to the lightly-used parking garage where he kept his car.

He wondered briefly where the pair had been headed, but dismissed it. He had been working on the fourth program for more than a week, and there was still a series of blocks and inhibitors whose function he wasn't quite sure of. Like a doctor, his first and foremost goal was to do no harm--at least, not to the android. When Crow Boy's reputation was at last in tatters, he'd love a sexy little red-headed doll of his own-- in perfect working condition of course!


	4. Chapter 4

Roger Smith felt oddly off-balance. A slight frown crossed his face as he regarded his companion.

"Is there something wrong?" Dorothy's question startled him. She had been watching the dancers so intently that he hadn't thought she was paying attention to him at all.

"Not at all," he lied smoothly. "I was just thinking about one of my cases, and I shouldn't be. We're supposed to be having a pleasant evening."

"I like the music very much," she said, her eyes returning to the dance floor.

"The band isn't bad," he said, trying to put the uneasiness aside. "Would you like to give it a try?" He gestured towards the dance floor.

"I'd like to watch a little longer, if you don't mind," she gave him the barest hint of a smile. "I never tried dancing to this kind of music before."

"You won't have any problem," he assured her. "It's one of those things that's easiest to learn by doing." A short while later, as he was trying and failing to think of some interesting topic that might be enjoyable to both of them, the band segued from a foxtrot to something slow and romantic. "This one would be perfect," he stood and reached for her hand. "Shall we?"

She accepted and he led her out on to the floor, glad to be free of the necessity of conversation. He'd been as graceless as a tongue-tied schoolboy, and if they had sat there much longer, he would have found himself reduced to making banal remarks about the weather.

As he guided her through the basic steps of the dance, the uneasy feeling returned. He pushed it down again, forcing himself to concentrate on his partner. She had, as he'd expected, caught on very quickly, and even seemed to be enjoying herself. "You're a very good teacher," she said as the waltz flowed into a faster number and they easily followed.

"You're a very graceful student," he said, trying not to look surprised. Had R. Dorothy Wayneright just given him a _compliment_? Surely some kind of insult would quickly follow.

Instead, she smiled again, the corners of her mouth tilting upward into a distinct if subtle curve. "Thank you," she said.

He was silent for a moment as he navigated them past another couple on the increasingly crowded dance floor. He was growing increasingly annoyed with himself. It was ridiculous that he, Roger Smith, Paradigm City's top Negotiator, was acting like some callow youth, complete with sweaty palms and butterflies in his stomach.

It was only a dress, a few yards of fabric. Very fine fabric, no doubt, skillfully tailored and attractively presented. Still, it was merely a dress, and he was merely dancing with a girl... a woman... who he had lived with for several years, a woman who annoyed almost as much as she amused.

How was it possible for such a small thing to turn the world upside-down? It was simply... _preposterous_!

* * *

"He_ what_?" Jason Beck was hard-pressed to control his laughter. Oh, this was marvelous, better than he could have arranged it if he'd tried! The only thing that could have made it better would have been him being there to see it himself. Roger Smith, brawling in the street like a common thug over an insult to his android lover! "And the Military Police showed up?"

"Took them both away," his informer said. "I thought of offering the pretty red-head a ride--they told her to go home and they'd get her statement tomorrow--but I remembered you were offering cash for any dirt anyone could dig up on that Smith character, and I thought you'd be interested in hearing this one."

"You thought right," Jason peeled off two twenties and a ten from the roll of bills in his pocket. "I appreciate your taking the time to stop by."

The man pocketed the cash and nodded politely. "I saw the light was on so I took a chance that you were still up. I'll stop by again if I hear anything more."

"Do that," Jason said as he escorted his visitor to the door. A few moments later he was back at his desk, but it was soon clear that he wasn't going to get any more work done tonight. Every time he tried to concentrate, the image of Roger Smith being hauled away by the Military Police intruded into his thoughts, leaving him choking with laughter. He'd get it under control for a few minutes, try to focus on the notes he'd made and then he'd be chortling again, delighting in the idea of Crow Boy finally getting some of the comeuppance that he had coming to him.

He finally stacked the papers in a neat pile and lit a cigarette. It was obvious that his programming alterations were having at least some effect--while Smith wouldn't have put up with insults to Dorothy before Beck had implemented his plan, he wouldn't have handled it in such a. _primitive_ fashion.

It was the best plan he'd ever come up with. As he shut the lights and headed towards his bed, he allowed himself to speculate on R. Dorothy Wayneright's reaction to Roger's fist fight. If the program worked the way he'd intended it, she'd be grateful for her Black Knight's gallant rescue.

* * *

"Hold still," Dorothy frowned as Roger squirmed uncomfortably. "If you don't let me get this taped, your eyebrow will never look the same."

He squirmed some more, wishing that Norman had been the one to come down to the station to bail him out. Bad enough to suffer the humiliation of being sucker-punched and laid out by that low-life, and in front of the one person who would never let him forget it. Still, he'd recovered and given the SOB exactly what he deserved. "Ow!" he protested as he felt the sting of antiseptic.

"If you don't hold still I'm going to call Norman," Dorothy threatened. "I don't think he wants to patch you up at three in the morning."

"He's done it before," Roger said tiredly, adjusting the ice pack he was holding against the bruise on his chin.

"He needs his sleep," she gave him a stern glare, carefully applying a neat row of adhesive strips to the sagging gash along his brow-bone. "It looked a lot worse than it was," she observed as she blotted the cut with some more antiseptic and stepped back to examine her work. "I don't think it will scar. Do you need help with your shirt? We need to get some cold water on it before the bloodstains set."

"I'm fine," he protested, but the shoulder he'd landed on was aching badly enough that he was glad for the assistance. "I didn't bleed on your dress, did I?"

"I'm not worried about the dress," Dorothy said, her fingertips lightly pressing on his shoulder. "Does that hurt?"

"No, I think it's just bruised," Roger said, wincing. "I'll feel better after a good night's sleep."

"You'll probably feel worse tomorrow," she predicted.

"It wasn't that bad," he said, although he knew she was right. He was surprised at her forbearance--he had been expecting at least a lecture, if not outright disgust. "I'm sorry about what happened," he told her.

She gave him a resigned look. "I wish you'd found a less conspicuous way to deal with him, but I thought it over when I was waiting for them to release you at the police station, and you were right--you couldn't ignore the things he was saying, it would only have encouraged him to be even nastier."

He raised an eyebrow and immediately groaned as the adhesive strips tugged on the wound. "You're not mad at me?"

"I'm a little annoyed, but I don't know what else you could have done," she said after considering it for a moment. "He didn't fight you fairly, either."

"He was a coward," Roger said, stifling a yawn.

"I suppose he was," Dorothy said. "Will you need any help getting ready for bed?"

"No, I'll be fine," he said, getting up from the chair. "My pajamas are a lot easier to deal with than a dress shirt."

"Good night, then, Roger Smith," she said. "It was a nice evening despite how it ended."

He stood there with his mouth hanging open as she disappeared down the stairs leading to the laundry room.


	5. Chapter 5

"Inhibition... inhibition... inhibition... no, that's a block," Beck muttered to himself as he studied the printout. Despite the time he'd already spent staring at the code, progress was slow. He'd felt like he was on the verge of a breakthrough last night when his studies were interrupted, but whatever idea he'd been chasing down had been lost. He didn't regret it at all--if it were a valid insight, it would come back to him sooner or later, and the news had been worth it.

It was tricky work, adjusting core programming, especially when he wasn't quite sure of the purpose of some of the functions he was looking at. The fundamentals were of course obvious. Don't kill people, don't maim people, don't do unnecessary harm... he'd been surprised to discover that those commands were inhibitions rather than blocks, but he'd quickly scoped out the reason.

R. Dorothy Wayneright wasn't just intended to pass for human. She was intended to effectively _be_ human. It was simply misfortune that had taken her away from the late, unlamented Timothy Wayneright before he could finish molding her into the woman of his dreams.

Wayneright's misfortune, that is. It was an ill wind that blew nobody any good, and Jason Beck liked to tell himself that his true genius was in finding that good and using it to his own best advantage.

So. A human, no matter how carefully socialized, could behave in ways that went against inhibitions, and from that standpoint, the old debaucher's delectable... daughter was indistinguishable from her fleshy compatriots. In fact, he wouldn't have been at all surprised if some of the blocks he'd released had been intended merely as protection while Dorothy "grew up", much as a parent would limit a child who didn't know any better. Certainly, their ease of removal supported the idea that they were temporary.

But this... this was a tangle. He put the papers aside and stood up, trying to stretch the crick out of his neck. He'd been spending entirely too much time lately playing the scholar, and it was time for a break.

What he needed now was to try to do a snapshot on her so he could compare her current functioning with his original readings. The information he could acquire on the fly wasn't as useful as a deep scan, but it would be enough to give him an idea of how his changes had been integrated into her personality. He would've thought that he would have seen a more pronounced effect on her behavior already, but then again, he may have missed something.

Right now, it was time for some lunch, and afterwards he could change into some less conspicuous clothing and see if he could catch up with his favorite android. She couldn't hide in the mansion forever... in fact, he happened to know she had a date at Military Police Headquarters in a few hours. Another one of his contacts had let him know that she would be returning to the station an hour before Crow-Boy's hearing in order to provide some of her memories as evidence.

It had only taken a few well-chosen, crisp, green words to persuade the tech to experience a mechanical breakdown on his way back from lunch that insured that Dorothy would be sitting in the waiting room for at least an hour. The tiny scanner would be the work of a moment to place--nobody ever paid attention to the janitors.

* * *

Roger stared straight ahead as the whole sordid incident played out on the viewer in the magistrate's chambers. He'd been furious when he found out Dorothy had allowed the Military Police to access her memories, but even he had to admit it was the one thing that would prevent the case from becoming his word against the other man's.

The magistrate rewound the tape and started it again, pausing it as he addressed the other defendant's claims. "I'm afraid this shows your memory is faulty, Mr. Thompson. As you can see here," he backed up the tape and replayed the section where the man and his date had crashed into them after a couple of near-misses, "it's clear that Mr. Smith and Miss Wayneright attempted to avoid you, not just once, but several times."

He let the tape continue on, pausing it again at the moment of Thompson's crude proposition. Roger clamped down hard on his involuntary, furious reaction as the ugly words were played through for the third time--it had been bad enough that they'd had to listen to them the first time.

"I thought she was one of those fancy-girls, tricked out like that," Thompson muttered. "How was I to know she wasn't for sale?"

"Even if she were--not," he hastened to add, "to imply in any way that you would pursue such an occupation, Miss Wayneright," he returned his gaze to the miserable Thompson, "even if she _were _for sale, it seems obvious enough that she was otherwise occupied and not the least bit interested in your offer." He released the pause button, making no comment as Dorothy and Roger attempted to simply walk away from Thompson.

They watched the rest in silence: the even nastier commentary, Roger's soft suggestion that they step outside, and the well-aimed sucker punch just after the two men left the club.

The magistrate frowned. "I'm going to put the best possible face on this and assume you had too much to drink and don't remember events clearly," he said to Thompson. "Mr. Smith, you would be within your rights to press charges of your own."

Roger wanted to see to it that the bastard got exactly what he deserved. He was about to request that he at least be charged with assault, but a light touch against his shin made him look at Dorothy, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. No. He had no idea why, but the pleading expression that followed reminded him that the whole situation had been harder on her than on anyone. He would do as she wished, and undoubtedly she would deign to enlighten him as to her reasons at some point. He took a deep breath.. "I'm willing to put it down to an unfortunate misunderstanding, sir," he said. If there was to be no legal satisfaction, he wanted the matter closed as soon as possible--his head was starting to ache and, as Dorothy had predicted, his shoulder hurt even worse than it had last night..

"Very well, then," the magistrate said. "Mr. Thompson, I find you guilty of disturbing the peace. Given the facts of this case, I sentence you to a week in the city jail, suspended as long as you stay out of trouble for the next year and pay a fine of five hundred dollars." He apparently had also noticed Dorothy's distress. " I must also insist that you make a nice apology to the young lady," he said.

For a moment, Roger thought Thompson was going to argue about it. "I'm very sorry for the misunderstanding and for spoiling your evening," Thompson out choked the words, not meeting Dorothy's eyes.

"I accept your apology. Thank you, your honor," she said.

"Mr. Smith," the magistrate said. "I'm dismissing all charges save for the one for disturbing the peace. I will continue this without a finding for six months," he gave Roger a stern look, "provided you refrain from street brawls in the future."

Roger flushed but nodded politely. "I will. Thank you, sir."

"Let the record also show that there were extenuating circumstances and that Mr. Smith was under extreme provocation," the magistrate told the court stenographer. He banged the gavel and told them they were free to go.

"It was kind of him to do that," Dorothy said as they walked out to the Griffon.

"What, make him apologize? You were owed at least that," he said, hitting the remote to withdraw the car's protective armor.

"To make it a matter of record that you were provoked," Dorothy said. "He didn't have to."

"There wasn't much else he could do, not with your memories right in front of him," Roger said. "Speaking of things people didn't have to do..."

"I offered," she said as they got into the car. "When I went to give my statement this morning, I got the impression that Thompson was telling a plausible story, at least, plausible to anyone who doesn't know you well. Colonel Dastun seemed very worried about the hearing turning out badly."

"I still don't like it," Roger pulled away from the curb, eager to get home. "It's an invasion of your privacy."

"They can't read my mind," she assured him. "They just saw what my eyes and ears were taking in. They were very kind to me, it wasn't like the last time. They said that since the memories were offered voluntarily, it was up to me which ones I gave them as long as it was an unbroken sequence. The officer who took my statement suggested that I begin from when he started to harass us, so that's what I did."

"Is that why the hearing started late?" Roger asked. It had been scheduled for one-thirty, but the magistrate hadn't even gotten the tape until quarter of three.

"The tech who handles the machine apparently got a flat tire when he was returning from lunch," Dorothy said.

"I was a little surprised you didn't want me to press charges," Roger said, carefully keeping his tone casual. "You had even more reason to be angry than I did."

"I..." she hesitated uncharacteristically. "I didn't like the tech."

Roger gave her a questioning look. As a general rule, R. Dorothy Wayneright had no difficulty with expressing her opinions. "What bothered you about him?" he encouraged her to elaborate.

"It was..." she shook her head, pausing as she searched for the right words to express the problem. "I said they were kind to me, and it's true. The tech was very polite too, but I had to remind him three times that he was searching outside of the parameters I had given him. He said he was having trouble with the calibration, but that was a lie-- those settings are automatic, they are done every time the machine is turned on. I knew that it was likely that they would order me to repeat the scan and he'd be poking around again. It would have been useless to complain, he just would have said the machine was touchy, and I had no way to prove otherwise."

"I'm glad you let me know," Roger said, and meant it. "So... we've tried to do something enjoyable for your birthday twice now. They say third time's the charm. What would you like to do next week?"

"Stay home," she shot back, and he grinned. For once, her sarcasm was welcome--it was a sign that things were returning to normal.

* * *

Jason was a bit disappointed with the tape when he watched it. The fight itself was comical. The look on Smith's face as that sucker punch landed was a picture suitable for framing!

Unfortunately, the tech hadn't been able to grab much outside of the authorized times. There had been a promising bit where Dorothy had begun to unbutton Roger's shirt, but unfortunately, the next frames showed she was merely offering him assistance because his shoulder was bruised. There had also been the short section where she walked into Smith's bedroom when he was clad only in a towel, obviously fresh out of the shower, but that had also proved to be sadly mundane. She had simply handed him his black robe, apologized for the necessity of disturbing him and left the room.

Surely Crow Boy wasn't living like a monk? He'd had quite a reputation with the ladies prior to Dorothy's arrival, and then... nothing. Not even a mistress. It was positively depressing, all that clean living!

The scan of Dorothy's current state wasn't all that helpful either. There were definitely some alterations, probably in response to the removal of the blocks, but he couldn't be completely sure. He sighed. At moments like this, it was tempting to just write a program to wipe out any blocks or inhibitions it could find, but that wasn't a particularly smart thing to do. While it might result into her throwing herself at Roger, it might equally well cause her to decide that Big O needed some fresh air and take him on a jog through the city, or that Mr. Paradigm City Negotiator would look better if she substituted glue for his hair pomade.

While both of those scenarios would be amusing in the extreme, it would do nothing to further the plan, and might even set it back if her actions made Roger angry enough.

He set the printout aside. What he needed was a real break so he could approach the problem with a fresh eye. He decided to concentrate on refilling his wallet for now--it had been sadly depleted from his recent spending spree.


	6. Chapter 6

Beck frowned at his reflection in the mirror as he got ready to leave. This job was almost... embarrassing. Not only was it actually legit, it required him to forgo the flashy clothing that was more his style. Still, it paid very well, and was almost as entertaining as his work on Dorothy. Thursdays were especially interesting because old man Tate got most of his deliveries on Thursdays, and it wasn't all that hard to get the crusty old bastard to start talking about his purchases. Jason ran water over the comb and coaxed his hair into a more conservative arrangement. He frowned again. It would do. He almost didn't recognize himself. Of course, that was a good thing--it wouldn't do for any of the alarm company's employees to figure out who he was. Satisfied, he left for the gallery.

Sam Tate had approached Jason two months ago. He'd arranged to have an alarm system installed in his art gallery, and a few overheard remarks had caused him to suspect that not only was he being cheated, but that he was also being set up. "I don't care about your past, Mister Beck", Tate told him.. "I've always thought that the best way to stop a thief was to hire a better one, and I hear you're one of the best at this kind of thing."

The combination of Tate's no-nonsense attitude and his flattering knowledge of some of Beck's lesser-known exploits had been enough to pique his interest, and when the old man said a certain phrase, spat on his palm and extended his hand to seal the bargain, Jason took it without hesitation. The gesture told him that Dan Tate had also been raised in the Paradigm City Home for Orphans, and only death would break a deal sealed in spit.

The geezer had been right about the alarm company, too. It was a sweet scheme, so sweet that Beck was half-envious he hadn't thought of it himself. A tiny device embedded in the control panel allowed anyone with a hand-held unit to override all the system's normal functions. It only took a few hours to adjust the frequency the device accepted and prep a controller unit with a panic button that Tate could keep in his jacket pocket, completely bypassing the non-working panic button installed under the counter. Any attempt to use a device on the original frequency triggered the alarm immediately.

Jason would have thought his job was done, but Tate wanted to get a little of his pride back, and the two of them had hatched up a plan. Since then, they'd had the service crew out at least once a week to fix one problem or another.

The old man was on the phone when he arrived. Jason occupied himself with admiring some of the paintings on the wall. "I don't _care_ that you were just out here last week for the same problem!" Tate snarled into the receiver. Jason grinned, enjoying the show. "I paid good money for this system, and obviously you used shoddy parts," Tate said. "Either that or your electrician didn't know what he was doing! All I know is that the alarm went off for no reason last night, and it wouldn't shut off until I pulled the fuse. That's right. Just like last week! I expect someone out here immediately or I'll hire some security guards and send you the bill!" He slammed down the phone and smiled broadly at Jason. "I figure at this rate that they'll have paid out ten times in labor what they collected in profit," he said. "I think we should leave them alone for a couple of weeks after this, let them think that maybe things are finally working properly."

Beck could admit to himself that he'd benefited from the canny old man's sense of timing. If he'd been in charge, he probably would have gone overboard. Tate had a way of finding the best parts of Beck's little schemes and implementing them in way that left his hands and conscience clean. Beck's uncharacteristic patience with the timing of Dorothy's alterations had been due in large part to what he had learned from old man Tate. "Knew you'd be here this afternoon," Tate said. "I've got some nice pieces in today. Let's have a look at them."

There were several attractive paintings from local artists and a small abstract sculpture made out of steel that had been burnished until it glowed. The sinuous curves of the piece made him think of Dorothy for some reason, and he almost asked the old man what he wanted for it. "I've saved the best for last," Tate said, going into the back room and bringing out a large painting that had been carefully wrapped in paper.

"Oh. My." Jason breathed when the wrapping was removed. The painting was clearly pre-Event, and it was done in a style Jason had never seen before. The colors were so rich they almost glowed. "It was found in one of the half-ruined buildings at the ocean," Tate said. "Like it?"

"It's... amazing," Jason said, stepping back to get a better look at it. "I'm surprised it wasn't damaged."

"It was in a sealed room, according to the gentleman that arranged to have me look at it," Tate told him. "I've worked with him before and he's very reliable. If I wanted to see the place he found it, he would bring me there without hesitation. He thought it might be important because of the way the place was set up, and he knew I'd know how to handle it." Tate left the room briefly and returned with several large books. "I haven't made a firm offer on this one yet," he said. "The style looks familiar, and I wanted to see if I could find any information about it." He passed one of the books over to Jason. "Look under Impressionist," he said.

Jason was almost afraid to touch the book, it was so old. It proved to be quite sturdy, and he quickly found the section Tate wanted him to look at. "Found it!" Jason said at almost the same instant as Tate's triumphant "Here it is!".

"The biggest problem with old paintings is verifying their authenticity," Tate told him. "Famous paintings are even harder to verify because they were often copied, and when you only have a photograph in a book to go on... hmmm...." his voice trailed off as he skimmed over the text. "This one is supposed to have been repaired," he said after reading the page more carefully. "Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to say where the repair was located."

They both studied the painting closely. "I wonder if there's a way of taking that back off of it," Jason said thoughtfully.

"That's a good idea, but I'm not sure we should chance it," Tate said. "With some of these old paintings, the backing has fused with the canvas and removing it will destroy the painting. I'd hate to find out the hard way that this was one of them."

Jason nodded. "What we need is a little more light," he said. Tate nodded and went into the back room, returning with a spotlight of the same type as the ones that were currently illuminating the paintings hung on the walls of the gallery. "Will this do?" he asked.

"I don't know," Jason said. "Let's give it a try."

It took them nearly an hour, and it was Jason who finally found the spot. "I think it's there," he said, tracing the track of the original tear a few inches above the canvas. "It's shaped almost like a T."

Tate took out his jeweler's loupe and examined the section Jason had indicated very closely. "I think you're right," he said. "It looks like they didn't try to paint it over to fix it, it seems as though they just brought the edges together. That makes it more likely that it's authentic, but there's another small problem."

"What's that?" Jason asked.

"It was supposedly in a museum in France," Tate answered. "What's it doing here?" He chuckled at Jason's dejected look. "Don't look so downcast, son, you've got a good eye," he said. "What we need to do now is look through some more reference materials and see if there's any mention of the painting being on loan or stolen."

When Beck finally left the gallery, he had a small stack of old books under his arm. Tate had gotten to talking about famous art heists, and it was well after midnight. Who would have known that art could be so_ interesting_?

* * *

Maybe the change of focus was what he'd needed all along.

It had been nearly two weeks since he'd last studied Dorothy's programs, although he didn't feel his time had been wasted. There was a satisfyingly thick wad of cash in his pocket, and more stashed away for lean times, and he'd learned a thing or two not only about art but about research.

It seemed the painting was authentic. He hadn't turned up anything in the books that Tate had sent home with him, but it had occurred to him that there might be other books. He'd checked out several junk shops, and while he hadn't found any art books, he did find a tattered pre-Event pamphlet that claimed to be a guide to the city. It had a whole list of museums, ones he'd never heard of, and while most of them had been looted or destroyed, it seemed that the thieves hadn't been terribly interested in the gift shops. Time had of course taken a toll, but he'd found something Tate called a "coffee table book" on the life and times of the artist Monet.

It was more recent than Tate's reference works, and to Jason's satisfaction, the painting in question was listed as missing. After the successful repair, it had apparently it had been loaned to the museum for an exhibition. Just before the exhibition closed, the painting had been stolen, and at the time of the book's publication, it hadn't been recovered.

The other verification had been Jason's own idea. Tate had asked his source to show Jason the building where he'd found the painting. After some careful digging, Jason had been able to provide Tate with evidence that the apartment where the painting had been found had been owned by a rich man who was known as a collector of fine art. He was even mentioned in several of Tate's references.

It was strange. Jason had always disdained research as being too tedious for his liking, but being interested in the subject you were researching made a world of difference. It also didn't hurt that Tate had been so pleased with his work that he'd not only paid Jason for his time, he'd thrown in a nice bonus. Flushed with success, it had suddenly occurred to Jason that perhaps a little research on robotics would be in order.

He hadn't found much, but there had been a gee-whiz-isn't-the-future-cool book, clearly aimed at young people, that had made everything click in his mind. Apparently, just prior to the Event, there had been some exciting breakthroughs in the field of Artificial Intelligence. According to the book, one day everyone would have a faithful robotic companion.

It was the word "faithful" that had made it click. There could be only one reason for the code that he had been puzzling over.

It did explain why she hadn't acted on her obvious feelings for Roger. Still, the arrangement made no sense. If the old pervert had arranged for it to be impossible for her to be unfaithful, why not set things up so she was also madly in love with him? Unless...

Jason was suddenly aware of a tight, nauseous knot in his gut. Pervert was right--Timothy Wayneright had_ wanted _Dorothy to hate him.

The thought crossed his mind briefly that removing the block meant Dorothy might choose somebody else. He quickly dismissed it as not worth worrying about. Her choosing someone else would be just as much of a humiliation to Crow-Boy as his original plan, although he doubted she would.

He made careful notes in the margin of the printout. After he finished this code, he'd incorporate the block into a new routine, and rectify Wayneright's omission. He could take his time to do the job right, he wouldn't miss this little drama playing itself out for the _world_. Wayneright's nasty little power games had just made it possible for his revenge to be even more complete. After Smith's reputation lay in tatters at his feet, he'd make sure Dorothy Wayneright was publically seen to be very much in love... with Jason Beck!


	7. Chapter 7

_My honey my baby don't put my love upon no shelf  
She said don't hand me no lines and keep your hands to yourself_

* * *

Beck tapped his foot impatiently. He was a few feet from the window in a vacant apartment in an abandoned building close to the market. Anyone who saw movement and looked closely would, if he were careful, assume that it had been caused by the rotting curtains stirring in the breeze from the baseball-sized hole in the window. He was waiting for Dorothy and Roger, and it was taking them _forever_ to finish their shopping.

Apparently it was Norman's day off, and Crow-boy was gallantly escorting the lady to buy the ingredients for dinner. Although Jason knew better than to try to get a bug into the mansion itself, it had been child's play to install one on the lintel of the doorway, and he'd happened to luck out and be listening as the pair left the mansion on foot. _What _could possibly be taking them so long?

He forced himself to be still. Their conversation had made it clear that they intended to return home immediately after their errand. so it was unlikely that they had left and gone somewhere else. He ran through the steps of the most recent program to occupy himself while he waited. It was too bad that he hadn't been able to perfect the 'fall-in-love-with-Jason-Beck' part of the program, but it had to be subtle, else Mr. Paradigm City Negotiator would realize that his precious paragon of plutonium-powered pulchritude wasn't the same model he'd started with.. Besides, part of the lady's charm was her rotten attitude, and she just wouldn't be the same without it.

_That_ kind of subtle, though, was several orders of magnitude higher than the simple dissolution of a block. He could do it, but it would take him the better part of a year. This program, on the other hand, was ready _now_.

He caught a glimpse of copper-colored hair and positioned the transmitter. Where was Crow Boy? Surely she wasn't going to leave without him.

Dorothy walked closer to Jason's window, apparently inspecting the display of apples at one of the stands. Was she distracted enough? No, better wait for... there he was, trying to act like he wasn't struggling to carry the three large bags almost overflowing with groceries. "I'd be glad to carry one of those," her voice carried easily through the broken window.

"If I'd known we needed so much, I would have brought the car," Roger grumbled, but Jason noticed he didn't take her up on her offer. That was stupid, she could probably carry _six_ bags without batting an eye.

He waited for his chance, transmitting the signal as Roger fumbled with the bags and R. Dorothy tried to lighten the load by putting some of the heavier items into her basket. Just as the unit finished sending, Dorothy gasped and dropped the can of coffee she was about to put away. For one awful moment Jason thought she was looking right at him! He froze, not even daring to breathe.

"What's the matter?" Roger asked.

"I saw a rat where I didn't expect one," Dorothy said.

"I wouldn't be surprised, not this close to the market," Roger said, grinning. "What, are you afraid? Don't worry, I'll protect you."

Dorothy gave him a look. "That won't be necessary," she said. "It wasn't doing any harm. I was merely startled." She picked up the coffee can, which had survived the fall with only minor dents, and put it into her basket. She closed the cover firmly and began walking towards the mansion.

"I didn't think you could be startled," Roger teased, moving more easily now that the bags weren't so full.

"Surely surprise at seeing something one didn't expect isn't confined solely to humans," she replied.

"I never said it was," Roger said. "I would think that near a food source like the market, though, a rat would be no surprise."

"Usually they aren't so bold in broad daylight," she countered.

"Maybe it was too hungry to wait," Roger suggested, his grin widening. "Well, this is certainly an amazing day! R. Dorothy Wayneright, surprised by a rat!"

"You're never going to let me forget this, are you?" Dorothy snapped.

Jason finally let out his breath when the sounds of their amiable bickering had faded into the distance. That was too close for comfort, and he was very glad that he hadn't been transmitting a more complex program after all.

* * *

Roger hurried to shower and shave so he'd be ready on time. After the fiasco of the last attempt to celebrate Dorothy's birthday, he was absolutely determined that tonight would be _perfect_.

He'd arranged an invitation to a private charity event at Instro's club, so it was unlikely they'd run into anyone with... interesting ideas about androids. His old friend hosted these events every so often, and tonight's benefit promised to be a glittering affair, with several bands in addition to the jazz group that Instro had started a few months ago. Dorothy had another new dress that she had absolutely refused to model for him, saying she wanted it to be a surprise. He hummed to himself as he put on his tie. He was really looking forward to this!

* * *

"Is there a problem, Roger Smith?" Dorothy asked.

Roger smiled. "I was just watching out for rats," he said. The evening so far had been every bit as perfect as he had hoped. She looked so good in deep green silk that it hadn't even occurred to him to complain that she wasn't wearing black. They'd been dancing for quite some time, and although Dorothy was probably capable of keeping up that pace all night long, he was glad for the cool breeze. They had gone out to the raised patio in the courtyard behind the club. The cloud cover wasn't as thick as usual, and there were even a few glimpses of the moon.

"What would you do if you spotted one?" her tone was mild, and he was almost prepared to swear he saw the faint tracing of an answering smile on her lips.

"Shriek, jump up on a chair and beg you to protect me, of course" he joked.

"You are teasing me." Yes, that was a smile.

"A little," he admitted. "This is nice, isn't it?"

"It's been very enjoyable," she said. "I was surprised when Instro asked me to sing!"

"I'm glad you did," Roger said, leaning against the railing. "You sounded great."

"It was strange," Dorothy said. "At first I wasn't going to, but then I thought that maybe the best way to put aside an old memory was to make a new one."

Roger nodded. "Do you miss your father?"

"No." She was abruptly silent.

Had he said something he shouldn't have? They almost never discussed the time Before, although they were two of the very small handful of people who retained their memories of the previous cycle. "I didn't mean to bring up anything upsetting" he began.

"I am not upset," she said, looking up at the sky. "I was just thinking that one of the best parts of coming to live at the mansion was knowing that I didn't have to think about him."

"I can understand that," he said, although he was definitely curious. She _never_ spoke of her time with Timothy Wayneright.

"You probably don't," she said, but her calm tone told him she was simply stating a fact and intended no reproach.

"Hey, tonight is for good memories!" He could have sworn he'd caught the glint of tears, and he quickly put an arm around her shoulders.

"Very good memories," she said, resting her head against him for a moment. When she looked up at him again, he wondered if he'd imagined the tears. "I didn't smudge, did I?" she asked.

Then it hadn't been imagination. As he looked into her eyes, he realized that if he stood here for another minute, he was going to take her into his arms and... "Not at all," he said, breaking the spell. It was time for a change of venue. "I think I've had enough rest. Do you want to dance some more?"

"I'd love to," she said, and they returned to the party.

* * *

Aside from that disquieting moment in the courtyard, the evening had been a complete success, and Roger intended to repeat it as soon as possible. The impulse to kiss her, he was certain, had been caused by the romantic setting and the rare moment of vulnerability. Certainly, she had acted no differently than usual since the gala, and life had settled into its normal routine, with him trying to sleep until noon and her playing the piano to insure he was up and about several hours before that. He broached the subject at breakfast as he drank his second cup of coffee. "I really had a good time at the charity benefit," he said. "It made me realize that both of us should get out more. I was thinking it might be fun to go and see a movie on Friday night, maybe stop for a nightcap afterwards. Is there anything you'd like to see?"

"Not this Friday," she said. "I promised Angel and Dan that I'd babysit, they asked me yesterday."

"Well, what about Saturday?" he said.

"I'm not free Saturday either," she said. "I told Instro I would play piano at the club for a few hours. He's going to be auditioning singers for the jazz combo. I'm sorry, Roger. If I had known you wanted to go somewhere, I wouldn't have promised."

"That's quite all right," he said, being careful to hide his annoyance. He had gotten entirely too used to her being there at the mansion all the time, and that really wasn't fair. "Perhaps we can make plans for next week."

"I would like that," she said.

"It's a date, then," he said, draining the last of his coffee and rising from the table. "I'm headed out to see one of my clients, I should be back by supper."

"Very good, sir," Norman said from the doorway. "Would you prefer roast chicken or beef?"

"Chicken sounds good," Roger wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin on the table. "I'll see you both tonight." He left the room and a moment later they heard the Griffon starting.

"What does one wear to a movie?" Dorothy wondered aloud.

"Well, formal dress is unlikely to be required," Norman said. "Perhaps Miss Angel can advise you."

"That's a good idea," Dorothy said, and helped the butler clear the table.

* * *

When Dorothy said she was going to do some clothes shopping with Angel, Roger didn't think anything of it until the items were delivered and he saw the bill. "R. Dorothy Wayneright!" he roared.

"What is it, Roger?" she came down the stairs and into the study. "Oh, my clothes are here," she said, and _smiled_. It wasn't a huge grin, but it was much more obvious than the usual tiny uptick of the corners of her mouth.

It took the wind right out of his sails. "You know, if you're intending to do a large amount of shopping, a little warning would be nice," he said lamely. His righteous indignation had completely deserted him. "Just so I don't go into shock when I see the bill, you understand."

"It was a lot," Dorothy said in her forthright manner. "I needed _everything"_.

"What about the clothes you have?" Roger protested.

"Do you really want me to go to the movies with you and wear the dress I've been scrubbing floors in all day?" she asked politely. "You said we should get out more often, and if that's going to happen, I need more clothes."

He looked at the bill more closely. Well, her point was valid, and it did look like she'd been pretty sensible about her purchases, but... _lingerie_? "Why on _earth_ do you need--" he was about to say 'brassieres', but cut himself off abruptly. It would be an absolutely fatal error to imply something like that to a lady! He quickly amended himself. "--so much underclothing?"

"I thought it was silly too," she said, "but depending on what one wears, one needs the appropriate underclothes so that the outfit looks the way it should."

It would also be a fatal error to mention that the extent of his knowledge about a woman's underclothes was first to admire and then to remove as quickly as possible, so he just nodded. "That makes sense," he said. "Still, a little warning in the future?"

"Of course, Roger," she said. "I'll probably get a few more things every now and then, but I won't need everything at once like I did this time." She smiled again as she picked up the bags. "Thank you for being so understanding," she said.

"You should have done this a long time ago, so I have to thank you for being so patient about it," Roger said, still flabbergasted by the sight of R. Dorothy smiling. When she had left the room, he sat down at the desk and put his head in his hands. He had the feeling he had just been out-maneuvered... and by an expert.

A polite clearing of the throat told him his butler was standing there.

"What is it, Norman?" he asked.

"If you'll forgive me for being so bold, sir, I wanted to thank you for not making a fuss over Miss Dorothy's purchases," the elderly man said. "She was very worried you'd be angry with her, and I promised her I'd make it right with you, but the delivery came before I'd had the chance to tell you about it."

Roger sighed. "Do I look like an ogre?" he demanded.

"Oh dear, of course not, Master Roger," Norman said, "but I know you dislike surprises of that nature, and you must admit that occasionally your conversations with Miss Dorothy can become a trifle... heated."

"She was due for some clothes," he said. "Other than the special dresses, I don't think she's had anything new since she first came to us."

"Quite so," Norman agreed. "If you don't mind my saying so, it was nice to see her so excited about it. She really seemed to take pleasure in the outing."

Roger nodded. "It was the smile," he admitted in defeat. "I didn't have the heart to take it away."

"Exactly, sir," Norman said. "It's good to see her finally taking an interest in things."

"Do you think that's what it is?" Roger asked.

"I believe so," Norman told him. "I'm not an expert on android psychology, but even the most basic androids have simple emotions. If not for these recent developments, I'd be worried that Miss Dorothy's early experiences had done her permanent damage."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," Roger said. "Thank you, Norman. That actually explains a lot, and we can well afford it--at least, we can afford it as long as I don't get a bill like this _every_ week."

"I should think we could simply budget a monthly clothing allowance," Norman said.

"That sounds fine," Roger said. "I'll leave it in your hands."

"Thank you, sir," Norman said. He glanced at the clock on Roger's desk. "My, it's getting late," he said. "I should be headed off to bed. Can I bring you anything before I go?"

"No, that will be all," Roger said.

"Then I'll bid you goodnight, sir," Norman left Roger to his thoughts.

Well, if Norman also thought it was appropriate for R. Dorothy to get some have clothes, then obviously they were needed-the butler wasn't at all extravagant. By the time Roger had himself a nightcap and sought his own bed, he'd practically convinced himself it had all been his idea in the first place.

* * *

That last alteration had certainly done _something, _even if it wasn't precisely what he'd had in mind. Jason sighed and put down the report. Lately R. Dorothy Wayneright had gone from recluse to veritable social butterfly--and most of her outings were sans one Paradigm City Negotiator. She was apparently attending a weekly luncheon with a group of Military Police wives and daughters, she played piano at Instro's one or two evenings a week, she attended the church where Instro was the organist, and she'd been seen pushing a stroller in the park--Angel's brat, no doubt. Jason still found it hard to believe that the curvaceous blonde had embraced the whole white picket fence life, but it seemed to suit her--he'd seen her walking with Dorothy just last week, and he'd lay down money that there was another on the way. He never would have thought Angel and Dorothy would be friends, either, but there they were, chattering away as they window-shopped.

It had taken him a minute to realize that Angel's companion was indeed R. Dorothy! She had been wearing regular street clothes, and her good taste in evening wear apparently extended to her whole wardrobe. She hadn't given up the black completely, but she'd leavened the severity with a white blouse and a pretty blue cardigan. The change was startling! To a casual glance, you would never guess she was an android.

Well, maybe it just needed a little more time. He was still working on the fall-in-love program, so he could afford to leave it alone for now. He also had some new research to do for the gallery, and it was a lot more appealing than the reports on Dorothy's activities at the moment!

* * *

Roger studied Dorothy from behind the newspaper. She was engaged in an animated conversation with Norman, telling him about someone she had seen while she was out the day before. Well... animated was perhaps too strong a word, but it was clear that both android and butler were enjoying the exchange. He cleared his throat and the two looked up at him in surprise. "Can I get you something, Master Roger?" Norman asked.

"If it's a good story, I'd enjoy hearing it too," Roger said.

"You don't like being interrupted when you read the paper," Dorothy said. "You made that very clear some months ago, Roger Smith."

"It's kind of hard to read with the noise," he growled.

Dorothy's eyes narrowed, but to Roger's surprise, she didn't rise to the bait. "That's true," she said, and picked up her plate and cup. "I apologize, Roger. It was inconsiderate of me." She turned to the butler. "I'll help you with the dishes, Norman, that way I can tell you the rest without disturbing Roger."

Norman topped off Roger's coffee cup and the pair disappeared into the kitchen.

Roger threw down the paper in disgust and stalked off to the garage. He hadn't had a good argument with R. Dorothy in more than a month, and he had to admit he missed the sarcastic comments. Hell, lately she wasn't even playing the piano every morning. The first couple of times it had happened, it had been bliss, but he _hated _changes in his routine, and being woken up by the crashing chords of the grand piano had been happening for so long now that its absence disturbed him.

Not that he would tell _her_ that, of course.

A half hour of driving settled him down considerably, and he was able to think objectively again. He didn't begrudge Dorothy a social life, nor was there anything wrong with any of her activities. As Norman had said, it was good to see her taking an interest in things instead of keeping to the shadows.

She hadn't even been excluding him from the conversation this morning--Roger had picked up enough of it know that she'd been telling Norman about one of the street people who wandered the area near the market. The butler was often amused by the man's antics, and Dorothy had probably seen him doing something that she knew Norman would enjoy hearing about. Roger also happened to know that his butler saw to it that the man had a warm coat and enough to eat when the weather turned cold. Roger approved of this, but didn't find the stories particularly amusing, and Dorothy knew it, which was most likely why she had chosen to tell Norman about it when Roger was presumably absorbed in the paper.

No, the real problem was that he _missed_ her.

Even though they had been going out once a week or so, now that she was actively pursuing her own interests, it seemed that their evening out was the only time he saw her, especially now that she wasn't waking him in the morning. Well, there wasn't much point in being a negotiator if he couldn't apply his skills to his own situation, and those skills suggested that the solution wasn't to complain that she was always out--the solution was to find things they could do together.

* * *

A few months' time found Roger much happier. After consulting with Norman as to Dorothy's current schedule, he began casually inviting her to come along on some of his cases.

To his satisfaction, most of his clients found her charming, and her assistance proved invaluable in some circumstances. During one negotiation, Dorothy was able to speak privately to a female client on a matter that the woman had found too embarrassing to discuss directly with Roger, but the information had made a real difference in the outcome.

After a particularly long day involving a lot of legwork, Roger suggested that they stop at a small restaurant near the wharf for dinner. She agreed, and he called Norman to let him know he didn't have to worry about getting dinner. The restaurant was crowded at that time of day, so Roger got his fish and chips in a take-out bag, and parked the Griffon in a spot that offered a good view of the water. Dorothy walked along the shore while he was eating, and after a few moments of relaxation after the meal, he got out of the car and joined her.

She looked out over the water through the deepening twilight. "Do you ever miss the way it was before?" she asked after a long silence.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "I don't really miss the dangerous parts, or how crazy it got just before it ended, but I do miss Big O and the feeling that I had a higher purpose than negotiating a divorce agreement or settling a landlord-tenant dispute. What about you?"

"Sometimes," she said . "I knew what my function was, even though I didn't like it. When my memories were stolen, I didn't expect to survive."

Roger slid a companionable arm around her shoulders. "I'm glad you did," he said.

"It is better to live than to die," she said, "but I don't know what my purpose is any longer, or who I belong to. There are times when I miss that certainty."

He nodded, remembering how lost he'd felt just after the Event. It wasn't that he disliked the return to sanity, it was more that it had been so chaotic for so long that he'd forgotten what ordinary felt like. Some of his restless energy had been absorbed in arranging the repair of the mansion and replacing things that had been damaged, but that only went so far. He'd had Norman to complain to, and Dorothy, and when the walls seemed to be closing in on him, he had his work. After three years, he was ready to start thinking about the future, but it seemed Dorothy was just coming to terms with the past.

He gave her shoulders a squeeze. "I felt that way at first," he said. "It's hard to look forward when you're still looking back."

"It's not that I am looking back so much as I don't know what it is to look forward to," she said. "Instro said that he felt that way when his father died."

"You'll find your purpose in time," Roger said. "Maybe you'll even find more than one purpose."

"Instro said that, too," Dorothy said. "He said that one didn't need to belong to someone to have a purpose."

"Of course not," Roger said. "First and foremost, you belong to yourself." In a sudden flash of insight, he realized that she wasn't trying to lay the past to rest, she was trying to deal with becoming a fully independent person. This had been happening since the day she had arrived at the mansion, but her expanding circle of friends seemed to be accelerating the process. "When I finished school and got my first apartment," he offered, "I remember how strange it felt not to have anyone to answer to. It was good, I liked being independent, but sometimes it felt a little lonely."

She looked up at him with a mild expression of surprise. "That's exactly it," she said.

"Well, if it's any help, everyone has to go through it," he said. "The other thing is to remember that even though you feel lonely, you aren't really alone. When I was starting out, I had my parents. Now I have you and Norman and my friends."

"I have you and Norman," she said, "and Instro, and Angel, and..."

"Exactly," he said.

She smiled then, and it was like the sun coming out. Roger looked into her eyes, discomfited by a memory of a night much like this with another woman beside him.

_The best way to put aside an old memory is to make a new one._

His hand reached out almost involuntarily to slide through the coppery strands of Dorothy's hair. Roger felt as though he were only a heartbeat away from dropping over the edge of a cliff. Another step and...

_You're in love with that surly android_!

The angry words echoed through his head, but this time, he had an answer.

_Damn right I am_!

He pulled Dorothy closer and brought his mouth down to hers.

* * *

There were few kisses for quite some time after that astonishing moment on the beach, although it wasn't due to a lack of trying on Roger's part--not that he was trying all _that _hard. There was nothing wrong with taking things slowly. It was taking a toll on him, though. Lately just the sight of her was enough to make his mouth go dry and his heart start beating faster.

It was the hardest to handle when they went out dancing. The pretty dresses, the soft scent of the perfume she'd taken to wearing and the sensation of holding her close was enough to drive him to distraction. "Roger, this isn't really appropriate," became words he dreaded, although he had to admire her finesse--half the time he couldn't even get her alone for long enough that the words were necessary.

Every once in a while she'd permit a kiss goodnight in the foyer when they were returning from an evening out, but Roger quickly learned to leave it at that. He'd made the mistake of trying to steal a kiss out on the balcony one time too many, and she didn't set foot upstairs again until he promised to behave himself.

Still, it was getting a little ridiculous. It wasn't as though she were shy, or unaware of the biology between a man and a woman. When she _did_ consent to kiss him, the way she melted into his embrace made him sure that she wanted him, too, but for some reason, she was holding back. Asking her directly had been no help either. "It just doesn't seem appropriate" was the only answer he could get out of her. The last time he'd gotten annoyed and muttered something about it not being appropriate for a man to be in a state of... tension all the time, she wouldn't let him near her for a month!

Something had to give. It was starting to drive him crazy!

* * *

Roger found himself lying on the floor looking up at the ceiling. What the hell had just happened?

He sat up and tried to shake the cobwebs from his brain. "Are you all right, sir?" his butler's voice sounded stiff and disapproving.

Roger rubbed his jaw and winced, wondering why Norman wasn't offering to bring him some ice. He must have...

"I'm fine, thank you," the last bit of haze cleared and he remembered perfectly well why Norman was looking at him like that and how he'd ended up on the floor. He got up and tried to pull the tattered shreds of his dignity together. "Thank you, Norman. Good night," he said and stalked off to his room.

* * *

There was an old saying that three people could keep a secret if two of them were dead, and the dinner party incident was no exception. Beck nearly choked with laughter when word of Roger Smith's little problem made its way to his ear. Slugged for trying to cop a feel! It was too perfect!

Dorothy had given a dinner party in return for some of the invitations to varying social functions she and Crow-Boy had accepted. In order to avoid overworking Norman, she'd hired a small catering firm to take care of the food. A member of the staff was the source of Jason's information.

Apparently everything had gone off like clockwork, which was to be expected if R. Dorothy was handling the arrangements. A good time was had by all, and the proceedings had come to a civilized end at around eleven.

According to Jason's source, Roger had overdone the conviviality just a little. He wasn't exactly _drunk_, but he was certainly very close to tipsy, and became _very _affectionate towards Dorothy once their guests had left. She'd discouraged him quite gracefully until the point at which Roger had gotten annoyed and a little too insistent. She tried to extricate herself from his embrace in a civilized fashion, but apparently his ardor overcame his good sense. She actually pushed him away, and when he didn't take the warning, she smacked him. Hard.

He had, according to the staff member, promptly lost his balance and gone over backwards. Dorothy had stormed out of the room, obviously furious, and a minute later Norman had appeared to make sure that his employer hadn't suffered any lasting harm.

Roger was already coming to at this point, and a minute later, he got up off of the floor and went upstairs. Dorothy returned shortly thereafter, acting as if nothing had happened. She'd helped the crew finish clearing up, thanked them for their good work and sent them on their way.

Jason Beck would have given a lot to be a fly on the wall at Smith Mansion right about now.

* * *

If Jason had gotten his wish, he would have been sorely disappointed. Roger emerged from his room well after noon. Dorothy wasn't home and Norman wasn't speaking to him--not that he cared! The whole situation was absolutely _preposterous_!

The next day was the same, as was the next, and the day after that. By the eighth day, he was getting heartily sick of sitting in the solarium and being_ avoided_.

He found Norman in the kitchen peeling potatoes, so he grabbed a peeler and pulled up a chair. "I apologize for the unpleasantness the other night," Roger wasted no time in getting it out of the way.

Norman avoided looking at him. "I'm not the one who is owed an apology," he said. "Miss Dorothy is a _lady_, she's not one of your painted Jezebels."

"Well, I can't apologize to her if I never see her!" Roger left the Jezebel remark strictly alone. He'd known that Norman hadn't approved of his bachelor lifestyle before Dorothy came to them, but he'd never realized the depth of the butler's distaste for the company he'd kept.

"I haven't seen much of her either," Norman said. "She's usually on her way out just as I'm getting up."

"Do you know where she's going?" Roger asked.

"Not to see her friends," Norman said. "Angel's called three times asking after her and she hasn't been by to see Instro. She didn't go to church on Sunday, either."

"That doesn't make sense," Roger said. "She's mad at me--why would she avoid seeing her friends?"

"She said something about it being too humiliating," Norman said.

"How could that be?" Roger frowned. "All the guests had left."

"Apparently you had forgotten about the catering crew," Norman lifted his eyes from the potatoes to glare at him.

"Oh." The magnitude of his error began to sink in. "Oh,_ God_."

* * *

"Where are you going?" Roger had stayed up all night to make sure that he caught up with Dorothy. It was almost painful to look at her. The woman whose slow emergence had delighted him these past months had completely disappeared, to be replaced by the expressionless android. She was wearing her old black dress, he noticed, and she was carrying a large box.

She turned and looked at him. "I'm taking my clothes to the church," she said. "I'm sure someone could use them."

"I thought you liked them," he said.

"I do," she said, "but it seems wasteful to just leave them hanging in the closet."

"I think we need to talk first" he said.

"If we must," she said, monotone. "It's only going to make you angry."

Roger made an exasperated sound. "Do I have the word 'Ogre' painted on my forehead?"

Dorothy studied his face closely for a moment. "No, it just says 'Louse', same as always" she said.

He laughed in spite of himself. "I thought that was a given."

"Apparently so," she said, looking out the window.

"Well, I'm not so much of a louse that I won't apologize," he said. "I am truly sorry."

She shook her head. "Unfortunately, an apology isn't really going to help.".

"Are you worried about gossip again?" he asked. He didn't say a word about ignoring it--he'd gone to the Speakeasy after his conversation with Norman, and there had been a couple of stage-whispered remarks about the worth of a negotiator who couldn't even negotiate himself into an _android's_ bed. He'd taken his own advice and pretended he didn't hear, but he had to admit the taunts rankled.

"It's not the gossip, really," she said.

Roger had a sudden, horrible thought. "Are my attentions... unwelcome?"

"No," she said. Her expression softened. "That is a... joy, Roger Smith."

"Then what's been stopping you?" he asked, frustrated all over again. "I'd think that what goes on between two adults isn't anybody's business but their own. If people are going to talk anyway, why not just suit yourself?"

"The problem is that it limits what I am able to do," Dorothy said. She hesitated and then seemed to come to some kind of decision. "I am sure you and Norman are perfectly well aware of my original function?"

Roger felt his face turn red. He hadn't expected her to bring up _that._ He answered honestly. "Yes," he said. "We didn't know what you remembered, if anything, so we agreed not to discuss it unless you brought it up. We figured you had enough to deal with."

"I'm bringing it up," she said. "There is generally only one purpose for a young-looking female android built with the kind of detail I possess, so even if I didn't remember every minute, it would take no great effort to reach this conclusion. I am," she continued, "very grateful for the discretion and courtesy you and Norman have shown me from the beginning. It did help."

"We knew there was also a chance you'd only been intended for a nurse-companion--Wayneright _was_ getting on in years." Roger pointed out. "Regardless, you didn't have any choice in the matter."

"Many people believe I still have no choice," she said. "I had hoped that the work I was doing at the church and with the Ladies' Auxiliary would convince them otherwise, in time. It seemed to be helping, but then came the catering crew with a juicy story to tell."

"Maybe it did help," Roger said. "I did hear a bit of talk when I was out, but it seemed mainly focused on my part of it."

"But it also seemed to confirm what had only previously been rumor," Dorothy said. "I had the opportunity to do some real good, Roger. You know what a mess Alex Rosewater left. One of the things the Ladies' Auxiliary has been doing is to help put things back together and raise money--there are too many orphans and not enough schools or hospitals. The church works with more immediate needs, and that's important too. But unless they were hoping to use me to get access to you, who would bother with Roger Smith's plaything? Why would anyone waste a moment on a... a... _doll_?"

"They won't see you as your own person," he said.

"Or take me the least bit seriously," Dorothy said. "A little bit of that is inevitable, some people will always dislike androids, but I could ignore that when I knew that most people could see that I was independent. But in addition to the things you heard, there's also talk that everything I did was just a ploy because you didn't want anyone to know about our real relationship. That you were ashamed of it."

"Of all the stupid..." Roger began.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "It was good of you to apologize, but I'm really not angry any more. I just needed time to think about what I should do next. I thought about finding somewhere else to live, but I really don't have any marketable skills other than..." she shrugged, "well, the obvious. I know how to care for children and keep a house, but no wife in her right mind would want me, and if the husband hired me, it wouldn't be for my Sunday dinners." She frowned. "I could learn to type and take shorthand fairly quickly, I'm sure I could find work as a secretary, but if I were on my own, I'd constantly be dealing with the type that we met that first night we went dancing. Besides, Norman really does need help--this is a big building and it's too much work for him to take care of it alone."

"He isn't getting any younger," Roger agreed, "and I know he'd miss you terribly. He enjoys your company, too."

"Well, he'll probably get tired of my company," Dorothy said. "I decided the best thing to do was to simply drop out of sight for a while. In a few years, nobody will care any more and maybe I can try again then."

"But what about you and I?" he protested.

"I'm going to go and drop off these clothes," she said, ignoring the question. "I'm glad we were able to talk, Roger."

"Wait just a minute, R. Dorothy Wayneright!" Roger took the box from her and put it on the floor. He took her hands in his "What about _us_?"

"I'm hoping that with time you'll find someone you can really love," Dorothy said finally, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Your terms are not acceptable," he snapped.

"It's the best that I have," she said. "I'm sorry, Roger."

The worst part of it was that he understood. If they continued in secret, it would be almost as bad as if she'd never been free of Timothy Wayneright. Ultimately it would poison their relationship, and she deserved much, much better than that. But to end it like this? They had been through too much together to just give it up. He felt like he had only just begun to truly get to know her, and the idea of finding someone else was more than he could bear. It may have taken him a long time to figure it out, but he knew that the only woman for him was the one standing right in front of him.

There _was_ one option that she hadn't thought of, he suddenly realized. "I have a better idea," he said. "Why don't we get married? People may not respect my android companion, but they will damn well respect my wife. Nobody would think I was ashamed of you then, and you'd have entrée to any social event you cared to attend." He warmed to the subject. "It would really give a boost to your charity efforts, I'll bet, and it would be quite a feather in your cap to be known as the woman who managed to land one of Paradigm City's most eligible bachelors."

Dorothy was giving him one of _those _looks again. "Is this a marriage proposal or a business negotiation, Roger Smith? I had been given to understand that there were certain traditions involved in a proposal of marriage. Perhaps I was ill-informed."

"The two have their similarities," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"Your terms are not acceptable," she said. She pulled her hands out of his and quickly left the room, the back door slamming closed behind her.

Intending to follow, Roger took a step and nearly fell over the box still at his feet. He picked it up so Norman wouldn't trip on it when he got up. Roger briefly toyed with the idea of hiding it, but that was silly, and she'd undoubtedly find it after a day or two anyway. He finally brought it back to her room and put it on her bed where she'd be sure to see it, then headed for his own bed. He needed at least a nap if he was going to try to see any clients today.

As he drifted off, it occurred to him that she hadn't actually said "no".


	8. Chapter 8

"He said _what_?" Angel nearly choked on her tea.

"He said that it would be quite a feather in my cap to be known as the woman who managed to land one of Paradigm City's most eligible bachelors," Dorothy repeated.

Angel was unable to contain her laughter. "One of Paradigm City's most _clueless _bachelors is more like it," she said. "I'm surprised you didn't hit him again. I would have."

"I must admit that I can't disagree," Norman came into the kitchen. "Can I get you some more tea, Miss Angel?"

"That would be lovely, Norman, thank you," Angel said. "Dorothy, you can't go into hiding like this! It isn't going to do any good."

"That's exactly what I've been saying," Norman seemed relieved to have found an ally. "Truly, Miss Dorothy, the best thing to do is simply go about your business."

"The church secretary said that too," Dorothy admitted, "and she wouldn't take the clothes." She lapsed into a sullen silence.

Norman busied himself at the counter, returning with a plate of dainty sandwiches and a fresh pot of tea. "If everyone you've spoken to is telling you the same thing, then surely there's a good reason for it," he said to Dorothy.

"Perhaps," Dorothy sounded unconvinced. "It's true that staying out of sight didn't help a bit when all this started. I don't know what I should do--I don't even understand why anyone would gossip about me! It's very confusing."

"Anyone would get confused in a situation like this," Angel said after taking a sandwich. "Still, if it didn't help the first time, it's unlikely to help now."

"I agree," Norman said. "The best thing to do now is to ignore the talk. It may take some time, but eventually, when nothing changes, people will get bored and find something more interesting to gossip about."

"I don't know," Dorothy shook her head.

"What about it is troubling you so?" Norman asked. "There was talk when you first came here, but it didn't seem to bother you at all."

"It wasn't quite so... personal," Dorothy said. "Most of the time it was just people being curious, and I could understand that. After pretty much everyone knew who I was, nobody said much."

"When did it change?" Angel asked.

"When you established a relationship with Colonel Dastun," Dorothy said.

"I see," said Angel, finishing off the her tea. She set the cup back down on the saucer with an air of determination. "Dorothy, I want you to change out of that hideous dress. I think today would be a good day to make some social calls."

* * *

"Sounds like a busy day," Dan said, massaging his wife's shoulders. It had become their custom to spend some time talking before turning on the television at the end of the day. Neither of them could remember who suggested it first, but since Jimmy had been born, it was a welcome guarantee they'd have at least a little time together.

"It was. Oh, that feels _good,_" Angel sighed in relief as his hands eased a particularly uncomfortable knot. "I finally got the rest of it out of her when we were walking. Poor thing! She doesn't care about the personal opinions so much, although it's obviously not pleasant for her. No, what she's really worried about is the effect on the people around her. She doesn't want the Ladies Auxiliary to lose charitable donations, or for Roger to lose cases, or for Norman to get cheated at the market."

Dan nodded. "I can't say her worry is completely unfounded, although I doubt it will go that far. I assume she thinks that by removing herself from the equation, things will return to normal?"

"Whatever _that_ is," Angel shrugged. "So we went to see the Honorable Mrs. Hathaway."

"Talk about taking the bull by the horns!" Dan chuckled. "And did the old harridan... err... that is, the good lady... receive you?"

"Of course she did," Angel said. "If only out of sheer curiosity!"

"Oh, to have been a fly on the wall." Dan started working on the muscles on the back of her neck.

"It was very cordial," Angel relaxed into his hands. "Dorothy can be perfectly charming when she wants to be. I believe Mrs. Hathaway was favorably impressed--she agreed to join us for lunch next week" She sighed. "Did I do the right thing?"

Dan was quick to put his arms around her--he knew she wasn't speaking of taking Dorothy to see Mrs. Hathaway. "You made the best choices you could," he said "That's all that anyone can ask." By unspoken agreement, he and Angel didn't discuss her role in the Event. It still gave her nightmares, although time was softening the edges. She'd said enough during and after those nightmares that Dan had a damn good idea of what had happened. He was surprised she hadn't gone insane--he doubted he could have handled the weight of all the memories of all the people who had ever lived in Paradigm City.

She leaned into his embrace. "I didn't want to _change _her," she said. "I didn't dare tinker. I would have made it easier on her if I could have."

"It was the right thing," Dan said firmly. If she started thinking about it too much, she'd have bad dreams for sure. "She wouldn't be the Dorothy we know and love if you'd tried. She's earned those memories."

"I think she paid too much for them," Angel's voice was barely a whisper.

"We all did," Dan said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But if I had to choose between remembering and forgetting, I would still choose to remember. I'll bet Dorothy feels the same." He patted her her shoulder gently. "You're falling asleep. Let's make it an early night, I'm tired too."

"I won't say no," Angel yawned. "Let me just check on Jimmy."

"I'll check on him and shut things down," Dan said. "You go ahead, you need your rest."

Although the day's final tasks only took ten minutes, Angel was already asleep when Dan came into the bedroom. Maybe she was simply exhausted, but he hoped she'd taken his words to heart. Either way, there were no nightmares.

* * *

"Roger, Norman asked me to remind you that the carpets are being cleaned first thing tomorrow," Dorothy emerged from the shadows on the balcony as Roger reached the top of the solarium stairs.

"Thank you, I'd entirely forgotten," Roger said, loosening his tie. She was, he was pleased to notice, wearing the clothes that she'd been planning to give away. "They're going to want to start up here first, aren't they?" He sighed. "I guess I'll have to set the alarm."

"Let me help you with that," Dorothy said, coming over to rescue Roger's sleeve from his vigorous attempts to unfasten his cufflink. "Hold still, there's a thread catching it."

"Thank you," Roger said when she handed him the cufflink.

"The buttonhole is a little frayed, I'll make sure it's repaired before it goes to the cleaners," Dorothy said. "Goodnight, Roger." She turned towards the stairway.

"Dorothy." She stopped and looked at him inquiringly. "About our negotiation...." He clasped his hands behind his back like a child at a candy store who didn't quite trust his ability to look but not touch.

She didn't look pleased. "What about it?"

"Have you considered it further?" He almost wished he hadn't said anything, but now that it had been brought up, there was no taking it back.

"I didn't know there was anything to consider," she said. "The terms haven't changed, and I have already told you they are not acceptable."

"What more can I offer you?" he forgot his resolve and reached for her hands. "Dorothy..."

"Please, Roger. You're making things unnecessarily difficult for both of us," she said. She freed herself from his grasp. "Even were I to accept your terms, I don't believe androids are allowed to marry." Before he could open his mouth to argue, she had fled down the stairs.

* * *

"I don't care what you _heard._ I got this directly from my brother-in-law, he was over there cleaning the carpets last week. He's up in the penthouse, she's got a nice little suite on the second floor near the old man's. Neat as a pin, of course, being as she's an android and all, but my brother-in-law said that you could tell she actually lived in it--all her things were there." Beck moved closer to the speakers under the guise of examining the window display of the junk shop more closely. "He said that there were no women's things upstairs at all, no men's things in her room other than a jacket with the sleeve pinned on top of her sewing box, and--here's the clincher--he said that she had _plain_ nightgowns. She keeps them on a hook on her bathroom door, and they were ordinary white nighties, not the kind of thing a ladies' man like Roger Smith would want his girlfriend wearing! Oh! May I help you, sir?" Jason must have gotten too close, and the woman had noticed him.

"I was just looking at that little sculpture you have there," he said, mentally cursing his luck. Well, the sculpture _was_ interesting, and Old Man Tate was always on the lookout for local talent. Not everyone could afford a one-of-a-kind Pre-Event masterpiece, and Tate frequently said that a large part of his success was due to always having a few pieces on hand that were accessible to nearly any pocketbook. The street sweeper who came in to get a nice little painting for his missus to hang over the mantel would think of Tate should he ever run across something of potential value, and Tate had acquired quite a few pieces that brought him a good profit through that kind of good will.

The woman brought the statue out from the window display and Jason inspected it closely, looking for signs of mass manufacture. "Seems like Roger Smith is a popular subject of conversation these days," he said, carefully keeping his tone non-committal. After seeing Old Man Tate in action with the varying dealers and private sellers he dealt with on a regular basis, Jason had learned to appreciate the value of setting a pleasant conversational hook without appearing over-eager.

To his delight, the shopkeeper took the bait. "That's just what I was saying to Annie here," she said. "It seems to me that there's entirely too many people sticking their noses in where they don't belong!" Jason murmured something that passed for agreement and continued to inspect the statue, which had a pleasantly solid heft to the hand despite the apparent delicacy of the work.

"I've heard some wild stories about them," he said after a few minutes. The statue really _was_ a little gem, and unless everything Tate had been teaching him was wrong, it was definitely hand made.

"I don't think the stories are true," the shopkeeper said. "I see Dorothy all the time. She's quiet, but once you get to know her, she's really very nice. Helpful, too--I've seen her carry bags for an elderly lady or stop a child from running out into the street. She insisted on sweeping up the glass at Frank's store the day the shelf with the jars of pickles collapsed--told him it was much safer for her to do it since it wouldn't cut her like it would him. She even had the old man come by later with his tools to check the other shelves."

"Still, with them living together like that, it's bound to make people wonder," Jason shrugged. "How much do you want for this?"

"It's hard to say what their relationship was Before," the shopkeeper said, "but I was just telling Annie what my brother-in-law told me. He cleans carpets for some of the richest people in Paradigm, and he's seen his fair share of wild goings-on, without a doubt! But one of the reasons he has such a good business is that he does a really thorough job--he even does the closets if there's carpet in there. And he says that you can tell when people are trying to hide something--do you remember when the Parkesburg divorce was in all the papers? My brother-in-law wasn't the least bit surprised. Their crew was over there a few months before and found a pair of man's shoes under the au pair's bed when they moved it, and some very expensive pretties hanging in the bathroom to dry, much too expensive for the au pair to have purchased herself. He didn't say anything about it at the time--another reason he has so many clients is he knows how to be discreet--but when the news broke, he told us about what he'd seen. So if he says the rumors about Roger Smith and his android aren't true, I believe him." She paused for breath and then gave Jason a price for the statue that was so low that his jaw almost dropped.

Twenty dollars? Tate'd get a hundred for it, easy. "Do you know anything about where it came from?" he asked, all interest in Roger Smith deserting him in the sudden delight of what might be a significant find.

"Sure, my nephew made it," she said. "He's been bugging me for months to put some of his stuff in here, I kept telling him no, I'm no art dealer, but he wouldn't let it drop and I finally took one just to get him to stop nagging."

"Oh, he's an artist, then?" Jason asked.

"My nephew? God, no, you can't make a living being an artist," she said. "He's a welder, does this stuff at night as a hobby. His boss lets him take a bit of the scrap and cuttings from their job sites, so the materials don't cost him anything either."

Jason nodded, barely able to contain his excitement. "He did a good job, I'd never know this started as scrap," he said. "I'll give you fifteen for it."

Twenty minutes of serious bargaining later, Jason had his prize wrapped and bagged and he was on his way to Tate's gallery.

* * *

"I said you had a good eye," Tate said with satisfaction after examining the statue. "This is nice bit of work. Where did you get it?"

Jason told him the story, leaving out the reason he'd been looking at the display in the window. Tate nodded. "If he continues to produce work like this, he won't need the day job much longer. Have you had the chance to look at anything else?"

"Not yet," Beck said. "I wanted to show you first."

"I'm glad you did," Tate told him. "Since it's your find, you're going to be the one in charge of dealing with him, but we should discuss some of the different artist types you'll meet and the best ways to handle them." He went behind the counter and reached into the cash drawer. "You'd better get us a couple of coffees and half a dozen Danishes," he handed Jason some money. "It's an interesting thing, dealing with artists, but there's a lot to tell you about!"

* * *

Roger looked at his watch in shock. For the first time in nearly four years, the emergency signal was flashing. Fortunately, he'd just left a meeting with a client and had only just gotten into the Griffon. "Norman?" he hit the two-way switch.

The butler's face appeared on the dial. "Master Roger, I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, but there's a report of a megadeus three miles west of the river, parallel to the main dome."

A megadeus? A _megadeus_? He had a horrible sinking feeling as he turned the key and the Griffon's engine roared to life. "On my way," he said, flipping a switch to see the map. Good--the tunnels there were clear right up to where the tracks emerged above the ground. "I'll be at these coordinates in approximately six minutes," he said, sending his butler the precise location.

"Very good, sir," Norman said. He looked to one side, consulting his own screen. "He should be there a few seconds ahead of you."

"Right." Roger turned onto the highway and floored it.

* * *

Angel looked at Dorothy with concern. The two women had taken Jimmy to the park, and after a few hours of playing catch-the-toddler, the little boy had worn himself out sufficiently that he was now napping in his stroller. She and Dorothy had been talking about the next charity event the Ladies Auxiliary intended to sponsor when the android had stopped in midsentence. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Big O." Dorothy's voice was so soft Angel could barely make out the words. "I've missed you, too."

Angel sank down onto a park bench, fighting off a wave of despair. Things were supposed to be stable now, she'd done everything in her power to make sure they would be. "I don't think I can handle this again," she whispered, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

Dorothy was looking off into the distance and didn't reply.

* * *

Jason heard the sirens, a large number of them. Something big must be going down. He hadn't heard this many since... he quickly closed down the thought. "I'm sorry, Mr. Tate, I missed what you just said," he said. "Must be a big fire or something."

"We probably should take a break until it quiets down," Tate agreed, his voice slightly hoarse from all the talking he'd been doing. "I think there's a couple of Danishes left from yesterday." He went into the back room and returned with the bag and the two men finished them in silence.

Jason found himself wondering how many other people remembered.

* * *

The controls were familiar in Roger's hands as he slid into the command chair and hit the activation sequence. _Cast In The Name Of God Ye Not Guilty_. The message scrolled across the display, and it was like no time had passed at all, although he sensed his companion was very glad to see him. It only took a moment to locate the other megadeus. As they moved towards it, Roger heard the distant sounds of sirens.

"I thought we'd seen the last of these," Roger muttered, and froze as a rush of information suddenly flooded his mind. "Thirteen hundred and twenty-six? _Thirteen hundred and twenty-six_?"

"_At maximum._" Big O's response carried a strong overtone of reassurance. "_Assuming that someone were able to find the correct parts and had sufficient Memories to use them_."

"Well, someone's managed to do it with one of them," Roger said. Thirteen hundred and twenty six potential megadeuses. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The screen flashed with a schematic of the model of their opponent. It was, Roger observed, not as well-armed as his megadeus, but it had a couple of capabilities that might prove to be a problem if he didn't watch himself.

The enemy hadn't yet spotted them, so Roger took the time to run a full status check on Big O. To his satisfaction, everything checked out green, and he was well-supplied with missiles. "How should we play this?" he mused out loud. The sirens were getting louder, but to Roger's relief, they stopped about 500 yards behind him. He stomped down on the foot pedals. "Let's start by getting his attention."

_...to be continued_


	9. Chapter 9

"Colonel, there's another!" one of Dastun's men shouted as they crested the hill and saw Big O.

"Stop here," Dan told the driver, and repeated the command on radio. He knew who Big O was perfectly well, of course, but he couldn't explain without revealing his memories. His men were waiting for his orders. "We don't have the firepower to take them both on, let's watch and try to get a better idea of their capabilities," he said. "Then we'll know if we should call in the reinforcements or fall back to protect the city."

To his relief, even the most hawkish of his squadron had been taken aback by the appearance of the second megadeus, and seemed relieved by his decision.

* * *

God, the thing was _fast_!

Roger had figured out two things in the ten minutes since he'd gotten close enough to get his opponent's attention.

The first was that the other megadeus had far more flexibility than Big O. A punch that would have felled a lesser opponent failed to even dent this one--it was able to deflect most of the kinetic energy of the blow by the simple expedient of moving with it. He'd tried the hip chains twice, but it was able to twist and turn quickly enough to avoid them.

The second was that he'd grown woefully out of shape during his four-year vacation. He was puffing like a bellows and his forehead was dripping sweat and half-blinding him. He let go of the control long enough to run an impatient arm across his eyes and tried to get into a better position. Getting this megadeus pinned down was worse than trying to stop Big Duo!

* * *

"Maybe it's a training exercise," one of the privates suggested. They had been watching for nearly a half an hour, and there had been no damage to either of the enormous machines. Dan had to admit the young man had a point--it looked more like they were sparring than seriously fighting. He'd seen the other megadeus in position to deal some real damage several times, but he could have _sworn_ the thing was pulling its punches. Still, Roger would have warned him if he'd intended to take Big O out, if only to avoid the city's inevitable response! And who was piloting the other megadeus? He'd never seen it before.

"I heard a story once about a giant black megadeus that protected the city," Major Collins said thoughtfully. "The bigger megadeus looks like the one I heard about. Maybe the story is true and it just needs to come out now and then to keep it from rusting up, just like you'd start a car every so often if you didn't drive it every day. This is a good spot for it, not many people would even know they were here."

"They don't seem to be interested in the city at all," one of the other men agreed. "What should we do?"

Dan had been puzzling over that very question, and had come up with an answer. "I think we should leave a small force here to observe," he said. "The rest of us should go back to the city and put the tank squads on alert, just in case. There's no point in causing panic if they aren't going to come any closer."

"That's true," the major said. "We might be able to fight off one of them, but trying to take on both of them might be biting off a bit more than we could chew."

Dan knew from bitter experience that taking on even one of them was biting off a bit more than they could chew, but he didn't mention that. "All right then, we're decided," he said. "Collins, you take my car and go back and put HQ on Red Alert. I'll stay here with Jackson and Walker--the bikes are faster and better at avoiding obstacles if we need to come back in a hurry."

"Right, sir," Major Collins saluted.

* * *

"_There is something odd here_," the Megadeus told his pilot. "_This opponent has had several opportunities to cause damage and has refrained._"

"Testing our capabilities?" Roger suggested, taking a few steps back from the other Megadeus and shucking off his sweat-drenched jacket.

"_There is no ill intent_," Big O seemed quite certain of this. "_I cannot detect any machine-thoughts at all in this being._"

That _was_ odd. "Is that possible?" Roger wondered. He looked at the other machine and gasped in surprise. It had taken several steps closer while Roger's attention was otherwise engaged, but both hands were held up in a gesture that was universally recognized as "I surrender."

* * *

"All clear, tell all units to stand down," Dastun informed HQ when he was finished speaking to Norman. After some difficulty, they'd manage to patch Smith's butler through. The old man knew better than to say too much, but he did let Dan know that the other megadeus presented no threat to the city. As soon as his shift was over, he intended to head over to Smith mansion for some_ real_ answers. He would have liked to approach the two megadeuses to get a full explanation right then and there, but he knew that neither Jackson nor Walker would let him walk over to have a chat without one of them along.

He spend most of the ride back to HQ figuring out a plausible-sounding story to give to the reporters who would undoubtedly be awaiting him.

* * *

"It was just a kid! He couldn't have been more than sixteen!" Roger had finally arrived home and taken a long hot shower, hoping to draw out some of the pain from his tight, aching muscles. If he was going to lay claim to the title of Dominus, he needed to start getting a lot more exercise, especially with that dishearteningly large number of potential problems somewhere out there. Big O had assured him they would discuss it more fully later, and they had then focused on the task of getting the other Megadeus back to the kid's garage without it being seen.

Dan topped off his drink and took another long swig. "A kid with too much knowledge for his own good," he said. "You got the thing put away, then?"

"For the moment, at least," Roger said. "He really didn't mean any harm, that's why he was out in the desert, so he could practice with it and not hurt anything. I guess he's been doing that for a while, it's just that this time somebody saw him coming out of the tunnel just outside of the city and called the Military Police. It seems he found the thing and repaired it himself as an after-school project!"

"My Hobby," Dan snorted. "Was he going to bring it to school for Show and Tell?

Roger laughed in spite of himself. "I don't think he knew exactly _what_ he was going to do with it, although he had some pretty idealistic plans" he said. "Most kids that age are into building cars, not megadeuses. What really scares me is the improvements he made. It's much faster than specs!"

"And now that Pandora's box has been opened..." Dan sighed. "Angel was hysterical when I called to let her know I was okay. Said it could undo everything she'd tried."

"I think she and Dorothy are downstairs," Roger said. "Norman said something to me about her intending to bring Angel over when she'd gotten her calmed down." He hesitated, not wanting to worry Dan more. "Big O doesn't seem to see it as a problem," he said finally.

"I don't know if I should take that as a good sign or a bad one," Dan said. "What are we going to do about that other megadeus? We can't exactly leave it there--if word of this gets out, it will start people Memory Hunting again."

"Well, there's a certain amount of that already," Roger said, "but there's no kingpin to take the most powerful items for himself, not yet. I was supposed to spend some time with the big guy later tonight to talk about what should happen next. I know we can't leave the other megadeus there indefinitely, but I'd take it as a real favor if you could just make sure there's an extra patrol or two for the moment--the kid has kept it secret all this time, and there's no reason to think that even if someone wanted it they could act on it in a day or two--moving something that large would take time to arrange."

"Sure, assuming they didn't just get in and pound their way out of there," Dan sounded even more worried. "But I suppose even more people would know about it if we took it out under guard."

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Roger said. "You gave the reporters the perfect explanation, so as far as anybody knows right now, it's just some equipment testing and a bureaucratic foul-up where one hand didn't know what the other was doing."

"The men won't talk either--they have it in their minds that the megadeuses are simply old tech that need to be run every once in a while to keep them in good condition," he said. "I told the squad that I'd seen the information, but didn't know what it meant at the time, and that I intended to review the files. It wouldn't be the first time we've run into _that_ situation--there's a lot of files over at HQ, and they're still trying to get everything indexed again."

"Roger?" Dorothy called up the stairs.

"I'm here," he said. "Dan and I were just having a drink. Come on up." Both men got to their feet, Roger groaning as he was reminded once again of his sore muscles. He wished that he and Dorothy were on better terms--sometimes after a long fight if he was bruised and aching, she used to give him a good rubdown with some liniment. He doubted she'd be willing now, and his pride wouldn't let him ask.

They heard two sets of footsteps, and a moment later, Dorothy appeared, with a very calm Angel following close behind.

"You look like you're feeling better," Dan said to Angel, enfolding her in a warm embrace.

"Much better now," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry if I worried you."

"If I'd been in your shoes, I'dve been just as upset," Dan reassured her. "I don't think anybody was too pleased at that moment." Both Roger and Dorothy nodded their agreement.

Dorothy turned to Roger. "He wants to talk to you now."

Roger turned to Angel and Dan. It was very rare indeed that Big O spoke to anyone other than him, and the fact that the Megadeus had communicated with both Dorothy and Angel meant it was important. "If you'll excuse me?" he said. "Please, feel free to get Angel something, Dan."

"We should be headed home, it's way past Jimmy's bedtime," Angel said. "Norman was keeping him amused, but I don't want to impose."

"Norman is enjoying himself and you should sit down and relax for a few minutes," Dorothy said. "He'll bring Jimmy up if it gets to be too much." She walked over to the liquor cabinet as Roger headed down the stairs. "Soda with a splash of Scotch?" she asked.

"Just a thimbleful of Scotch, please," Angel said, recognizing the determined tone in Dorothy's voice. It _was_ nice to sit down in front of the fireplace and just relax. She accepted the drink and took a grateful sip. There was just barely enough Scotch to give it flavor--trust Dorothy to remember that she didn't really care for strong liquor when she was pregnant. She took another sip and set the glass down. "This isn't the disaster we feared it could be," she told Dan. "In fact, we were really lucky."

"How do you figure?" Dan asked.

"Well, as you know, you just can't tell who is going to have the Memories," Angel said. "All we know is that someone ends up with them sooner or later. We were lucky that the boy--his name is Jake, by the way, Jacob Morris--found this particular Megadeus, because it has no awareness."

"Meaning that anybody who could get it running could pilot it," Dorothy explained at Dan's uncomprehending look. "It could have been much worse. Jake is young, but fortunately, he was smart enough to have thought things through. He told Big O that he was thinking that his megadeus might be useful for rescue work--that's why he improved its speed and flexibility--but he said he couldn't just bring it out to a fire or building collapse or other disaster without being damn sure he could maneuver it without hurting anything."

"Thus, practicing out in the desert," Dan said. "I suppose that makes sense if you're sixteen and want to make the world a better place."

"Some boys become firefighters or policemen," Angel said, giving Dan a fond smile. "Jake didn't know that what he was remembering were Megadeuses, but the Memories were strong enough that he had a good idea of where he should be looking, and he looked until he found one. Big O calculates that there's enough parts and partial machines to fully assemble more than thirteen hundred Megadeuses."

Dan looked at them with a stunned expression. "How can you be so calm knowing there's that many of them just waiting for someone to trip over them?"

"At one time there were more than 15,000 of them," Dorothy noted. "When that was true, they really were out there just waiting for someone to trip over them--they were everywhere. Now, most of them aren't all that easy to find, which is progress of a sort. Paradigm City and the surrounding desert for miles around contain these fallen megadeuses, and quite a few of them are complete enough that there's no point in suppressing the Memories about them--any forgotten tech would be quickly relearned as soon as someone made contact with one of them, without any corresponding knowledge of the potential for destruction. The Memories contain that knowledge, so it was better to keep them."

"I'd completely forgotten why I hadn't deleted them, but Big O reminded me ." Angel said. "It's better that those who do understand the tech also remember the price of using that tech carelessly."

"So what happens now?" Dan said, trying to picture a world with 15,000 megadeus corpses and failing. He wondered if Dorothy had seen this with her own eyes or was just relaying information from Big O, but he really didn't want to ask. "While I trust what you say about the boy's intentions, that isn't going to do any good if anyone who gets into the command chair can pilot it."

"There's a method of fixing that as well," Dorothy said, "although I don't think Roger will be very happy about it."

* * *

"You want me to find _Jason Beck_?" Roger demanded in disbelief. "After everything that happened? You know as well as I do that he can't be trusted!"

"_He is the man we need for the job_," his companion's tone was implacable. "_Dorothy is willing, and the sooner it's done, the safer all of us will be_."

"Why can't someone else do it?" Roger began pacing the edge of the command center, trying to think of a way to accomplish the thing without having to involve Jason Beck. "Norman is familiar with her systems."

"_There is no one else_," the response was immediate. "_Norman is familiar with her physical systems, yes, but not with her programming. There are currently three people who have sufficient Memories to do the job. One is eighteen months old, the other just turned four, and the third is Jason Beck_. _The longer this Megadeus is unbound, the more likely that someone with ill intent will gain control of it. We cannot wait for ten or twenty years._"

"I understand, but... " Roger ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "I'd like to at least speak with Dorothy about it. Will it keep for a couple more days?"

"_After two weeks of inaction, the probability of discovery begins to rise drastically, becoming near 100% in approximately six months."_ A chart illustrating the increase appeared on the display. "_While moving Big Trey will forestall that temporarily_," the figures on the chart changed, "_after four months the probability begins to increase again, and subsequent moves have little effect on the curve_."

"Then I'll discuss it with her later tonight or first thing tomorrow," Roger conceded, although he still hoped for a better plan. He turned to go and was startled by a sudden wistfulness shading his companion's mental aura. "I've missed you, too," he said. "I thought many times that I'd come down to talk to you, but I didn't know if it was the right thing to do. If you preferred to sleep, I thought you had earned it and that I shouldn't disturb you."

Another three hours passed before Roger finally left his friend.

* * *

"I don't understand how you can even consider it!" Roger controlled his volume with an effort as they went around the subject for the fifth time. He was sore, he was tired, and what he really wanted was to mix himself another good stiff drink for sedative purposes and go to bed, and he'd said so three times now.

"I find the alternative far less appealing," Dorothy said. "I prefer that my memories remain my own this time."

"But... Jason Beck? After what he did to you? How can you possibly trust him?" Roger asked.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say I trusted him, but I do I know that he has changed," she said.

"What makes you so sure of that?" he said.

"Because he has avoided getting into trouble for nearly four years," she told him. "The Jason Beck who stole my memories would have done something stupid already."

"He's probably just getting himself into a better position to cause trouble," Roger disagreed.

"I don't believe that's the case," Dorothy said. "I see him fairly often, although we haven't spoken and I don't think he's seen me. He seems to be pursuing a new career these days--he's working over at Samuel Tate's Gallery on West 25th."

Jason Beck working at an _art_ gallery? Roger couldn't believe his ears. "Are you sure it's not just a cover for something... less savory?" he said. "I can't imagine him being interested in art."

"I believe that this conversation has become circular," Dorothy said. "You are tired, Roger Smith, and I know that you are in pain. I believe it would be wiser to talk again tomorrow after you've verified this information independently."

"You're probably right," he sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck to try to get the kinks out.

"I know I am right," she said. "We will talk again tomorrow. Sit down and have your drink." She left the room without bidding him goodnight, which was odd, but perhaps the idea of putting herself into Jason Beck's hands was more disturbing than she was letting on.

"Are you still awake?" He was lost in thought, considering some of the other things he and Big O had talked about while they were catching up on things, and was startled to see Dorothy standing next to him. She had a set of sheets in her arms with which she proceeded to drape the couch. She brought the bottle of liniment out of her pocket. "Come over here, Roger Smith, else you won't be able to get out of bed tomorrow."

His back had frozen up while he sat in the chair, and she had to help him stand and then help him remove his robe and pajama top. It was an act of grace, and he knew he didn't deserve it.

It was also acutely painful, sore as he was, but when she finished kneading the knots out of his muscles, she changed over to long, soothing strokes that had him nodding off after just a couple of minutes. "Time for bed," she told him.

He'd never realized before how careful she was not to break the spell of sleepiness she'd created, but, mindful of Big O's gentle but definite reproach concerning his habitual conduct with R. Dorothy Wayneright, he made himself pay attention. The key was the slow fluidity of the process, from helping him to sit up and get back into his pajama top to the short walk that ended with her easing him into his bed, which she had, at some point, turned back and warmed with a heating pad. He retained just enough consciousness to grab her hand as she pulled the covers over him. "Thank you," he said. He gave her hand a quick squeeze and released it.

He sensed rather than saw her smile as she lightly smoothed his hair away from his face. "You're welcome," she said. "Good night, Roger."

* * *

Roger was thoughtful as he returned from an early client meeting. His back was still sore, but it was nothing compared to how he would have felt had Dorothy not intervened, and he was grateful all over again.

"_She wasn't pleased by your declaration of love?" _he'd awoken with Big O's question echoing in his head. His admission that there had been no declaration had been what brought the reproach from his friend. "_I fear you take far too much for granted where Dorothy Wayneright is concerned_."

The Megadeus was right, that was the worst part. He did take things for granted. He assumed that Dorothy already knew he appreciated all the things she did, not just for him, but for Norman. He assumed that she knew him well enough to know that he never would have proposed marriage if he didn't love her. He assumed that his actions told her everything she needed to know.

But while actions were important, and while words without them meant nothing, sometimes the words were needed too.

He couldn't just bring up his proposal again and declare undying love, for all that it was the truth. She would correctly surmise that Big O had said something to him, which would remove any virtue whatsoever from the words.

He could however, begin treating her with due respect and appreciation. If she warmed to him, he could pursue his suit as seemed appropriate. If she did not, he would still continue to treat her every bit as respectfully. After all she had done for him and Norman, he owed her at least that.

It hurt to think that he might have lost any chance he had, but it was his choices that had led him to this, and he had no one to blame but himself. There would be no rescue via a Deus ex Machina, not this time.

* * *

"Oh, its true all right, although I can understand why you might find it difficult to believe," Big Ear said from behind his paper. Roger had originally planned to go directly to the mansion but had stopped by the Speakeasy on impulse. He walked in just in time to see Big Ear settling down at his usual table. "Word has it that Tate is grooming him as his replacement."

"Has he really given up his underworld connections?" Roger wondered out loud.

"Probably not," Big Ear said, "but he keeps a low profile. He was involved in some petty criminal activity for a time after the Event, but he hasn't engaged in anything of the kind for over a year--at least, nothing that anyone has heard about."

"Interesting," Roger said.

"He's been here a few times looking for information as well," Big Ear continued. "Information on art work--verifying where a piece was found, questions concerning the reliability of the finder, that sort of thing. He's acquiring quite a reputation as a difficult man to fool, and he's not afraid of doing his legwork."

"If it weren't coming directly from you, I would never have believed it," Roger said. "Dorothy believes he's changed. Do you find it true?"

Big Ear considered the question for a long moment. "The answer is yes and no," he said slowly. "His personality hasn't changed all that much, so in that sense, no, but he is more.... subdued. Less likely to fly off the handle. I could be mistaken, but if you asked me to name the change, I'd say he's acquired a bit of.... restraint."

The only restraints Roger could picture subduing Jason Beck were handcuffs or a straightjacket, but he kept his opinion to himself. "You've given me a lot to think about," he said, rising and dropping a folded set of bills on Big Ear's table.

Big Ear quickly covered the money with his paper. "I'll give you one for free," he said as Roger strode past. "There's some people you wouldn't much care for asking a lot of questions about exactly what was going on in the desert about three miles west of the main dome yesterday."

* * *

"Come in," Jason said with surprise when he saw his visitor. "Well, well. I can't say I ever expected to find _you _knocking on my door. What brings you here?" After listening to a description of what was needed, he smiled. "I can do what you ask, no doubt about it." he said. "It'll take about three months to put it together, including testing." His smile grew even wider. "It's going to cost you."

_...to be continued_


	10. Chapter 10

Norman looked at the page Roger handed him. A moment later, he realized what his employer had in mind.. "That's a _wonderful _idea_,_ Master Roger!"

"So you think Dorothy would be pleased?" Roger asked. "I thought that I might get it filed and surprise her with it."

"I believe she would be very pleased indeed," the butler said without hesitation. "Is it really this straightforward?"

"Yes, I couldn't believe it myself," Roger said. "There has always been a provision for this, and when the Board was certifying the existing Bylaws, they simply updated the language a little. A version of this law has been in place all the way back to the first copies of the Charter."

"Well, I suppose there have always been times when it was necessary," Norman said.

"I'm not sure Dorothy ever needed it in the first place," Roger said.

"Perhaps you're right," Norman said, "although I think it did her good to learn how to manage a real household. Theory is all very well and good, but nothing beats experience."

"I definitely agree," Roger said. "There are plenty of people that will never be able to do as well.. Dorothy was fortunate to have you for a teacher, I don't know anyone who would have taught her better."

"Thank you, sir," Norman's cheeks flushed pink with pleasure at the compliment, strengthening Roger's resolve to be just as quick to praise as he was to complain . "I think that we ought to arrange to go out to dinner the day it's official. I know several of her friends who would be delighted to attend."

"If you give me a list of who you think she might want to have there, I'll be happy to pass on invitations," Roger said. "What do you think about a week from this coming Thursday? That ought to be enough time for me to make all the necessary arrangements on my side of things."

"That sounds perfect," Norman said. "Let me just get some paper."

"How is Jake working out?" Roger asked as Norman fetched pen and notepad from one of the kitchen drawers. Jake had been coming to the mansion to work with Norman for nearly a month now, and Roger was prepared to swear that it had given the old man a new lease on life. He was in better spirits than he had been for years, and really seemed to be enjoying his work again.

"He's going to do wonderfully," Norman said. "He's already got the monthly maintenance schedule memorized, and with your permission, sir, he'd like to make a few minor modifications to Big O that will make him more maneuverable. I've looked over his drawings and discussed it with him, and if it doesn't work correctly or causes unforeseen problems, it wouldn't take more than half a day to put things back the way they were."

"I see no harm in trying it," Roger said. "If it gives even me a quarter of the speed he got out of Big Trey, I'd consider it time well-spent."

"Very good sir," Norman said. "Oh, before I forget to tell you, the program to activate Big Trey's core memories is proceeding nicely, and the first tests were successful."

"And you went with her?" Roger said.

"Just as we'd agreed," Norman said. "Mr. Beck handled things in a very professional manner."

Roger rolled his eyes. "Like a professional low-life, I'm sure," he said.

"No, he was very polite and explained the tests to me as well as to Miss Dorothy," Norman said. "I suspect he learned something from his experiences just before the Event."

"He has all of his memories?" Roger gave the butler a look.

"I'm certain of it," Norman said. "We spoke briefly of Alan Gabriel."

And most people in Paradigm City had no idea Alan Gabriel had even existed. Well, this certainly shed a new light on things. It was too much to hope that Jason Beck had learned his lesson, but it did explain why he hadn't been eager to call attention to himself. "I can never forgive what he did to Dorothy," Roger said.

"I understand, sir," Norman said. "Nevertheless, I for one will be glad when this is taken care of. The idea of Big Trey falling into the wrong hands..." he shuddered as his voice trailed off.

"I know exactly what you mean," Roger said.

* * *

Jason tilted his chair back, his hands behind his head. Things were looking good. The tests he'd run on Dorothy today were a success, and if there were no complications for the next part, he'd be finished with the program ahead of schedule, including incorporating the fall-in-love routine. What remained to be determined was the price.

He still hadn't decided what he wanted. Usually money was more than welcome, but right now he had more cash on hand then he usually made in a year's time prior to the Event, even with the occasional payments to Big Ear when he needed information and the regular sums he paid to his informants on the street. His connections had proven unexpectedly valuable. Just knowing who was looking to score had helped him give good advice to Tate on several occasions, and he had the bonuses stuffed into his sock drawer to prove it.

The key was to make sure that his price was something that pissed Crow Boy off. He'd almost laughed himself sick when Dorothy had shown up for the first tests with the butler close behind. What the hell did Smith think Burg was going to be able to do? Nothing against the old man, Jason actually had a certain amount of respect for him as a colleague of sorts, but he'd have no way of knowing what Jason was up to.

He thought of offering Dorothy the opportunity to take it out in trade--that would surely have Mr. Paradigm City Negotiator gritting his teeth and turning purple--but it just wasn't _humiliating_ enough. After her time with Wayneright, he doubted Dorothy would bat an eye at his own undoubtedly plebian tastes, and Crow Boy would rationalize it as something she'd done against her will for the ultimate good of Paradigm City and he'd forget the whole thing as quickly as possible. Besides, once his routine started to work, he could have her whenever he wanted. Why pay for milk when in a short while you'll own the cow?

He half-regretted that he'd agreed to Dorothy's request right away--he might have been able to drive up the price by playing hard to get--but she was perfectly correct when she'd said it needed to be done. If someone got hold of that Megadeus and used it to gain power, Jason might find himself in the same unpleasant situation that he had been in prior to the Event.

He considered some of his other options. Access to the Megadeuses for the purpose of studying them further might be nice, but the gigantic machines had their own ways of enforcing who was allowed inside the command center. He also had absolutely no desire to be Big Trey's full-time pilot, nor his mechanic. The Megadeus was a fine piece of work, and he'd greatly enjoy the chance to take it out for a spin, but he truly wanted nothing more. Besides, as he had learned from working on Big Fau, the Megadeuses were sentient and perfectly capable of communicating with anyone when they wished. If he really needed a look at one of them, he could ask permission directly, just as he had with Fau. A polite inquiry would elicit no worse than a simple 'No', or perhaps a 'Why do you ask?', and if it was deemed reasonable, permission would be granted.

At the moment, he really had no reason to inquire. Art was a lot more interesting, and far more profitable.

Bah! Jason let the front legs of the chair touch ground with a thump. There was no point in worrying about it for the moment. Sooner or later, he'd think of _something_.

* * *

"Hello, Jake," Dastun put aside the report he was finishing. Young Morris looked worried, this was clearly no social call. "What can I do for you?"

"I feel like an idiot coming in here like this," the boy began, "but Norman said I should tell you about something strange that happened yesterday."

"If he thinks that it's important, that's good enough for me," Dastun said reassuringly. "Have a seat."

"I need to show it to you," Morris said, "if you have a few minutes."

Stranger and stranger. "I have a few minutes," Dan put on his hat and let his aide know he was going out for a while, then the pair left his office and headed down the street. At first he thought they were going to the underground garage entrance, but the young man chose a different direction.

It was nearly 10 minutes before Morris finally stopped and pulled something out of his pocket. "Sorry for the walk, but Norman said it was important not to give you this at Headquarters."

It was an empty film canister, and it looked brand-new. "Where did you find it?" Dastun asked.

"In the garage where we keep Big Trey," Morris said. He flushed. "It was stupid. I had a box with bearings in it, and didn't close the lid tight. I didn't realize it until they started dropping all over the floor. I was just looking around to make sure that I'd gotten them all, and I spotted one in the corner near the door. It had rolled right up against the canister."

"You were right to tell me about it," Dastun said. It might, he reminded himself, be perfectly innocent. Even though it wasn't officially allowed without approval, sometimes the men took pictures of the equipment for themselves or their families. Once, he'd caught one of the mechanics taking snapshots of a tank gunner at his controls. A bit of questioning had revealed that it was for the gunner's young daughter, who was having nightmares. Her father had promised her that no monsters would destroy the city while he was on the job, and he wanted her to have a picture of him at the controls of the big gun.

Dastun had confiscated the camera, given both men a verbal reprimand, and had the pictures developed. They were consistent with the story. The mechanic had even taken care to frame the shots so that you couldn't see the inside of the tank, just the gunner at his controls. After talking it over with two of his colleagues, who agreed with his assessment that both men were telling the truth, he'd returned the camera and the pictures, with the admonishment to put in a request for permission through his office next time.

This could well be equally innocent. After all, Big Trey was something new, and a certain amount of curiosity and a desire for some kind of keepsake wasn't all that surprising.

More likely, however, was that someone was on the take. The pay for junior officers and enlisted men was ridiculously low, and it wasn't much better for the higher ranks. Despite Dan's efforts to increase it to reduce the risk of internal corruption, the budget was already stretched too thin. He reminded himself that they were making a difference and that the city was a far more peaceful place that it had been a few years ago and sighed. "Do you recall seeing anything else?" he asked Morris. "Any signs of someone you didn't know lurking around the garage, any strangers asking you odd questions?"

The boy shook his head. "I had a kind of creepy feeling someone was following me home from school the other day, but I ducked into a store and he walked right by," he said. "I haven't seen him since."

That wasn't good news either. While it also might have been perfectly innocent, it was more likely that the tail had realized he'd been seen and acted to minimize suspicion. "I'm sorry to say this, but I think we're going to have to implement some of those security measures we talked about."

"That's what I was afraid of," Morris said, his shoulders slumping.

* * *

"Norman said you wanted to see me?" Dorothy came into Roger's study. He was frowning as he sorted through a stack of what appeared to be solicitations from Paradigm charities. Dorothy recognized the letterhead on a couple of them as he shuffled through the pile.

"Yes, thank you," Roger said, pulling up a chair next to his and motioning Dorothy over to it. "You've been spending a lot of time with the Ladies Auxiliary and your church, and I wanted to ask you a few things."

"I'd be glad to help if I can," Dorothy said, sitting down. "What do you need?"

"Every year, the list of charities gets longer," Roger said. "It used to be simple. You donated to the MP Widows and Orphans fund, wrote out a check to an orphanage or a church and maybe sent one to the hospital if they needed something, and that was more than enough. Now, though, there's so many that I have no idea if any of these groups are reliable, or if they're doing any good. Do you recognize any of them?"

"I could write out a list of the good ones," Dorothy began, but Roger held up a hand.

"That would help, but what I'd really like you to do is handle it for me," he said. "Generally, I budget about 10% of my income for charitable gifts. This year, I figure I'll be donating about..." he named a sum that caused Dorothy's eyes to widen. "I don't know why you seem so surprised, I've been doing this for years now, even before we met. It's part of a gentleman's obligation to protect women, children, and the elderly," he said. "But things have changed. I assume you heard that news story about the hospital administrator who was arrested for embezzlement? He'd been skimming from the donations since the Event if not before."

"We talked about it at the last Ladies Auxiliary meeting," Dorothy said. "It's a bad situation for the hospital, people are afraid to donate to them now."

"Well, it got me to thinking that I couldn't just blindly hand out checks," Roger said. "I consulted a lawyer about it, and he suggested I set up a charitable foundation. After we did that, I started looking over these requests and I realized that I just don't have the knowledge or time to run it properly. I plan on hiring someone, but since you've become involved in charity work yourself, I thought it would only be fair to offer you the job. The foundation will pay a yearly salary, and there's a small budget to cover an office and a few staff members if you think you need them. If you aren't interested, that's no problem. I'd still like your recommendation for a trustworthy person who would do a good job with it."

"I don't know if I can do it," she hesitated.

"You don't need to answer right away, take some time to think about it," he said.

"It's not that I don't want to do it," she said. "It's a good idea, and it's very generous of you to offer it to me." She paused, looking down at the floor.

"But..." he prompted.

"I don't want you to make up a job just so I can have one," she said. "I'm also worried about what would happen when I was ready to get my own apartment. I wouldn't want people depending on something that might just disappear due to bad feelings between us."

This was something Roger had anticipated, and it was critical that he be honest. "I won't say that I didn't think right away that making this offer would be a good way of solving several problems," he said. "and it would be a lie to say that it hadn't occurred to me that it could be seen as a way of making you feel further obligated to me." He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out two manila envelopes. He opened the first and handed Dorothy the contents. "I had the lawyer draw up a contract," he said.

Dorothy gave him a sharp look but took the paperwork and settled down to read it. Roger waited patiently as she read it over a second time and then considered the matter. "I can only be terminated for cause," she said. "And 'cause' only touches upon not fulfilling the obligations listed in this agreement?"

"That's right," Roger said. "This is a serious offer. If you want me to write out a check now as an advance so you can take it to get your own apartment first thing tomorrow, it won't affect this job offer. I won't say I'll be happy about it, but you're right, it can't be dependent on our association. I'm offering it to you first because I truly believe you're the best person for the job." He realized he was holding his breath as he waited for her to reply.

"An advance isn't necessary," she said. "I'd planned on staying here until Norman retired, as long as you had no objection."

"Of course not," Roger said. He hated the reminder that Norman too would one day leave the mansion, but the fact that Dorothy was comfortable enough to plan on staying for a while longer gave him a whisper of hope. "Jake is working out well, isn't he?"

"Norman thinks he'll be ready to take over completely by the time he graduates," Dorothy said. "although I don't think he intends to retire for a few years after that.."

"He deserves it," Roger said. "I hope he'll at least reduce his hours."

"I'm just glad he has someone to help him with Big O's maintenance," Dorothy said. "Last winter was hard on him, the cold made it difficult for him to climb around on the scaffolding."

"The arthritis gets a little worse every year," Roger agreed. "I told him that he should take a few days off, but he wouldn't. He said Big O had to be fully battle-ready at all times and the maintenance schedule had to be followed. I'm glad Jake's here to help him now."

"How were those upgrades Jake did?" Dorothy asked. "Did they work as well as you hoped?"

"They were great," Roger said. "Big O could always move pretty fast if there was a need, but it was hard work and I couldn't keep it up for long. Now he's even faster, without half the effort." Roger was in better shape now, too, since he and Jake had begun taking out both Megadeuses a couple of times a week. They had rigged up a second Prairie Dog for transporting Big Trey, and he was currently being stored in the underground garage at the Military Police Headquarters. They'd found another place to practice that was even further out from the city, and so far there had been no disturbances. It was good to be in the command chair again, even if it were only for training exercises.

"What is this clause about bonding?" Dorothy returned to the contract, looking over the papers one more time.

"It's a sort of insurance policy," Roger said. "It's to protect the foundation from being ruined by someone like that hospital administrator. I doubt anyone would have problems with _your_ integrity, but it's pretty standard for a well-run charity. Since the foundation is something that might expand to include other sources of money, or perhaps need additional employees, it's good practice to have it from the beginning. It reassures any potential donors."

Dorothy nodded. "Is this contract legally binding?" she asked. "While I trust you not to go back on your word once you've agreed on terms, does this document have any real weight if one of the signers is an android?"

"That," Roger said, "is the other thing I wanted to talk to you about." He opened the second envelope and took out another set of papers. He handed her the top sheet and waited.

She looked at the page for a long time before she finally read the words out loud, as if hearing them would help her to grasp what they meant. "In recognition of the varying capabilities of Paradigm City's androids, this section has been created to address their legal standing. While it is established practice for most androids to be assigned a legal guardian, if the android is certified to be self-aware and capable of handling his own affairs by his guardian and a minimum of three other non-related adult citizens, that android shall enjoy the same rights, privileges and responsibilities as a human being who has reached his majority. This includes but is not limited to the right to enter into contracts, the right to marry and assume responsibility for any minor children of that marriage, the right to own real property and the right to vote in Paradigm City elections. The android shall be responsible for any acts committed after the date of this recognition, and is subject to any penalties and consequences pursuant to those acts..."

Her voice broke and Roger realized she was crying. "I should have looked it up a long time ago," he said, and put his arms around her. She took the gesture for the comfort he intended it to be and relaxed against his shoulder.

"Instro needs to know about this," she said after she'd had a moment to compose herself.

"I've already dropped off a copy of the law and told him I'd be insulted if he didn't ask me to sign," Roger said, offering Dorothy his handkerchief. "It may take him a little longer--his current guardian will be against the idea because he won't want to lose control over Instro's money, but Instro also has the right to have a hearing, he'll just need a concerned citizen to request it on his behalf. You could file a hearing request yourself once you've signed this," Roger said, handing her the official proclamation. "You'll need to bring it to the Records Bureau so they can get a copy for their files, but this is valid the minute you put your name on it."

The tears started again when she saw the number of signatures attached to the document, but Roger had half-expected it and had put another handkerchief in his pocket just to be safe. "You asked the _butcher_?" she exclaimed as she read the list of names. "And Frank Manning from the grocery? What did you do, bring it to the market and ask anyone you saw to sign?"

He laughed. "No, although I bet the list would have been even longer if I had," he said. "I guess Norman mentioned it to Mr. Manning when he was doing the shopping, and within two days the phone was ringing off the hook with people who wanted to vouch for you. There are a lot of people who wish you well, Dorothy, despite the gossip."

"I think that I have some thank-you notes to write," she said. Her eyes were still brimming over, but she smiled every time she looked at the paper. She touched the seal with wonderment and looked at the signatures again.

"Norman thought that maybe you'd like to go down to the records office to file the copy and get your id card and then we could all go out to dinner to celebrate," Roger said when she finally slid the papers back into the envelope. "They close at five, so we have an hour."

"I would like that," she said. "Let me just go and change my clothes--where did you want to go?"

"I was thinking of the Poseidon near the waterfront," Roger said. "I'm craving fish and chips again, and they have a nice Surf and Turf. It's a family restaurant, although they do offer cocktails and dancing later in the evening"

"Norman loves Surf and Turf, he'll be pleased," she said. "I won't be long." She hurried upstairs to change.

* * *

Dorothy's reaction to the circle of friends awaiting her at the Poseidon was everything Roger could have hoped. Her surprise and delight were infectious, and the number of friends and well-wishers who continued to arrive over the next hour surprised even Norman, who had predicted a good turnout. They filled the restaurant, and the overflow room, to the point that even the ordinary patrons who had merely come to the Poseidon for dinner somehow became part of the celebration. Roger was pleased to see a number of Dorothy's android friends as well.

The dinner hour had ended and the music had started. Every time he looked, it seemed someone else had claimed Dorothy for a turn on the floor. She was wearing a dressy turquoise suit that, with her red hair, made it easy to pick her out from the crowd of dancers. He looked around the room and saw Instro approach a shy young miss who had been hanging back in the shadows near the wall. A few minutes later he saw them dancing, the girl laughing and chattering away as if she had known him forever. "It's nice to see Beth enjoying herself instead of hiding," Angel had found her way over to him through the crush of people, and had also spotted Instro.

"She's Murphy's daughter, isn't she?" Roger had thought the girl looked familiar but hadn't been able to place her until he heard the name.

"Yes, she and her mother are part of the Ladies Auxiliary," Angel said. "She admires Instro's work, but she's always been too shy to talk to him."

"Everyone looks like they're having a good time," he said.

"I hate to spoil it by bringing up business, but there's a ...situation with Jake that I want to talk to you about," she said.

Roger thought longingly of the dance he'd been hoping to claim from Dorothy, but he knew Angel wouldn't have sought him out if it wasn't urgent. "What's happening?" he asked, steering her towards a relatively quiet corner.

Angel quickly outlined what Morris had told Dan. "We're afraid he may be in real danger, and we want to take you up on your offer to let him stay at the mansion."

"Of course," Roger said. "What about his family?" The boy frequently mentioned his mother and younger sister.

"We've managed to find them an apartment where we can keep a better eye on them," Angel said, "but it won't be vacant for another three weeks. We think they'll be safe for a short while without Jake there, but we were hoping you'd be willing to stop by to check on them a few times a week."

"That's no problem," Roger said. "Norman or I will have to drive him to and from school, it's too far for him to walk, and I'm sure he'll want to visit them."

"No doubt, and that's a good reason to have one of you dropping by," Angel said. "I'd feel a lot safer if you'd bring him home with you after the party."

"Norman said something about calling it a night soon," Roger said.

"Yes, Dan spoke to him already and we'll be glad to drop them off. We just wanted to clear everything with you," Angel said.

"You don't have to do that," Roger said. "Stay and enjoy the party. I can bring them home and come back."

"I'm almost falling asleep myself," Angel said, trying to smother a yawn. "I'm at that annoying stage where I'd sleep for eighteen hours a day if I could get away with it."

"You should take a nap when Jimmy does," Mrs. Hathaway's voice startled both of them. "I've come to thank you for your invitation," she extended her hand to Roger. "This is the first time tonight you've stood still long enough for me to catch up with you!"

"I'm glad you joined us," Roger shook her hand. "I'm sure Dorothy and Norman feel the same. The turnout was even better than we had expected."

"She's a remarkable young lady," Mrs. Hathaway's words held no trace of sarcasm, in contrast to her next statement. "I confess I'd never expected you to release such valuable... property."

Angel winced visibly and Roger clamped down hard on a surge of anger. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he said, deliberately keeping his expression bland.

"No?" Mrs. Hathaway raised an eyebrow. "Well, perhaps something one has grown tired of has less value."

"Mrs. Hathaway!" Angel took a step forward, the light of battle in her eyes.

Roger took a firm grip on his temper. Dorothy had spoken to him about the elderly lady's penchant for saying things that everyone thought but wouldn't dare say aloud. "She doesn't suffer fools gladly," Dorothy had told him, "and there's always a reason for her saying the things she does. I've been watching her, Roger. People give away a lot with their reactions, and she knows just how to get to the truth of the matter. It's probably why she's so influential, despite the fact that she infuriates everyone with the horrid things she says."

He put his hand on Angel's arm. "I believe that Mrs. Hathaway intends me to take a different meaning entirely than the first consideration of her words might imply," he said, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the cavalry coming in the form of his butler, Dastun, and the boy. "Ah! There's Dan now." Roger introduced Jake to Mrs. Hathaway, and after exchanging a few pleasantries, they said their goodbyes and headed towards the exit. He was grateful for the timely interruption, although the set of Angel's shoulders told him she was still furious and that undoubtedly someone would be getting an earful tomorrow. "Would you like to sit down? Could I get you something to drink?" he asked the elderly woman, leaning on the charm of his Negotiator persona.

"A glass of wine would be lovely," Mrs. Hathaway said, accepting the chair. Roger excused himself and found a waiter, who promised to return shortly with the wine. He returned to the table, aware that she was watching him closely, but he simply seated himself., allowing a comfortable silence to descend until the waiter returned. "You were saying?" he said after she had taken a few sips from her glass.

"What meaning do you find upon further consideration?" she asked.

Straight to the point, then. "I believe it is most likely that you intended to inform me of the probable reaction to Dorothy's new status," he said.

"Intelligent as well as good-looking," Mrs. Hathaway approved. "I begin to see why she speaks so highly of you."

Roger shrugged. "Intelligent in some matters, perhaps, but in others... I'm not so sure," he said.

"And now that she's legally her own woman?" Mrs. Hathaway asked. "What are your intentions, Mr. Smith?"

He couldn't hide the quick flare of annoyance. "My intentions are entirely honorable," he snapped. "and you'll have to ask Dorothy if you want to know about her intentions. Her choices are her own, they always were. From what she's said, I believe she plans to remain at the mansion at least until Norman retires, and I'm glad of it--they're very close, and both he and I would miss her terribly. I've offered her a job as well, although I'm not sure she's decided on whether to accept it."

"I see," she said. Roger got the impression that this wasn't what she had expected to hear. "What kind of a job?" Roger sketched out the details, and was surprised when the woman nodded agreement. "An excellent idea from all perspectives," she said. "She'll do very well at it, and of course she would need to be emancipated in order to be bonded. Have you considered pooling the foundation's resources with other donors? I would think there was no shortage of people would be glad to join an endeavor that keeps an eye on where the money is going and how it's been spent."

"If not immediately, then certainly in the future," Roger said. "The timing will also be Dorothy's choice, assuming of course that she takes the job."

"A fine payoff to assuage a guilty conscience." Mrs. Hathaway actually winked at him.

"I prefer to think of it as showing proper appreciation for services rendered," he shot back.

It startled a laugh out of her. "That's more like it!" she said. She swirled the wine in her glass and took a thoughtful sip. "When the talk about Dorothy didn't die down immediately, despite the complete lack of any impropriety in her conduct, I thought it odd that people had become so fixated upon the subject. After considering the matter at length, it occurred to me that when no one remembers who they were, any scrap of information that might help one know whom to trust and whom to avoid is seized immediately and gnawed on until it's as dry and tasteless as an old bone."

Roger had never thought of it that way. "That makes sense," he said. Angel had done her best, making sure that people at least retained memories of basic technical operations, and she had been careful to restore as many books and documents as she could, but the first year after the Event had been chaotic and people were still frightened and deeply suspicious of anyone outside their immediate circle.

"I expect that the falsity of the rumors will become blindingly obvious to anyone with eyes, given a bit more time." Mrs. Hathaway rose from the table, signaling the end of the conversation. "I'm glad we had this chance to speak, Mr. Smith." Roger got to his feet and offered his arm, but she waved it away. "I can see myself to the door. You should try to claim a spot on your young lady's dance card so she doesn't feel neglected."

The woman didn't miss a thing, Roger realized. "I'll do that," he said, ignoring the reference to 'his' young lady, and took her hand again. "Thank you again for joining us." He insisted on escorting her to the door, saw her safely into a cab, and then went in search of Dorothy.

He was surprised to find her alone, staring out at the dark ocean. "Are you tired of dancing?" he asked.

"It's just a bit... overwhelming," she said. "I enjoy talking to people, but it's hard to deal with so many of them at once."

"I wouldn't be half so effective in my work if I didn't have an escape from it," Roger said. "That's the real reason I prefer not to do much socializing at home. If I want bright lights and noise, it's easy enough to go somewhere."

"I understand that much better now," Dorothy said. "I've had a wonderful evening, but I'm looking forward to it ending, too."

"It's getting late and people are starting to head out already," he said. "We could leave now if you wanted, although I came looking for you because I was hoping to dance with you at least once."

"I would enjoy that," she said.

"Shall we, then?" He offered her his arm, and a minute later they had joined the others on the floor.

The one dance turned into three, but he had no objections. Other than that comforting hug he'd given her earlier, it was the first time she'd been in his arms for weeks. He was glad when the music changed to something slower and gave him an excuse to pull her close. He didn't say anything at all for most of the dance; he was too busy enjoying it. "I'm so glad Norman thought of doing this," he finally broke the silence.

"I am too," she said. "I've never had a surprise party before."

"Well, then, we'll have to arrange another," he said, regretfully releasing her as the song ended, "as long as it isn't for me. I hate surprise parties."

"Maybe we can do something nice for Norman's birthday," she said.

"I think he'd enjoy a small party at home," Roger said, "although I have no idea how we'd manage to surprise him!"

They drifted off the dance floor still discussing it. "It would only require proper planning," Dorothy said. "Arrange for a catering company to deliver all the food and decorations. About an hour before the guests are due to arrive, you go out on an errand that's at least a twenty-minute drive away. Ten minutes after you get there, you call him and tell him the Griffon's broken down so that he'll leave the mansion to pick you up. You could either sabotage something minor or just have the hood open and a bit of grease on your hands and tell him that you found a loose wire. He will of course want to spend ten or fifteen minutes checking it over, and then you tell him you missed the person you intended to meet and you're going to go home--you know he will want to follow just in case of any more problems. While he's gone, the catering company and the guests arrive, we all work together to get everything set up, and by the time you get back and wash up, the party is ready to go."

"You've given it a lot of thought, I see," Roger teased, but she was right, it would work.. He stopped himself from putting an arm around her shoulders, although it was something he normally would have done without thinking twice about it He was trying to walk a fine line between warmth and formality, and even though he hated the constraint, he had to admit that the more mannerly approach had gone a long way in easing any awkwardness and discomfort between them. The pair made the rounds to say their goodbyes, and he brought the car around to the entrance while she made sure she hadn't missed anyone.

He would have loved to suggest a stop at the beach, but he resisted the impulse, turning the car towards home. They were careful to be quiet when they came in, and Roger was glad to see that Norman hadn't waited up for them. They stopped in the hallway in front of the grand staircase. "I will always remember this night," she said, and surprised him by putting her arms around him.

He returned the embrace, regretting his wasted opportunities. "I hope that you'll have many nights--and days!--of happy times to remember," he said.

"I think I will," she said.

He looked into her eyes, unwilling to let the moment end. "I miss this," he said.

He was utterly astonished when she drew him down into a kiss that heated his blood and made his heart pound and was over entirely too soon. "So do I," she said. "Good night, Roger." She turned and went up the stairs.

"Good night," he managed to choke out the words before she'd disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

Beck tapped his foot impatiently. Dorothy was supposed to meet him here in order to run a few more tests on Big Trey in preparation for the final program, and she was late. He tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and lit another, huddling close to the building to avoid the chilly rain that was falling. He could have gone inside, but he didn't care to endure the suspicious glances he'd undoubtedly get from the people inside. Today was _not_ going well. He had a rather interesting lead on a painting, but something about the seller bothered him, and he wasn't having any luck getting any information about him.

On the surface, it looked like a sweet deal, but something wasn't quite right, and he was going to have to decide tonight whether or not to buy the piece--the seller was getting antsy, and was talking about another offer. He wished Dorothy would hurry up--if they could finish up quickly enough, the gallery would still be open and he could talk to Old Man Tate about it.

It was nearly a half hour more before he finally spotted her hurrying down the street, this time accompanied by young Morris. Well, that made sense, since Big Trey was the boy's find, although he'd be even less effective than the butler at guarding the toothsome Miss Wayneright. Jason whistled under his breath. The girl had astonishingly good taste, no doubt about it. When he'd first hatched up this little plan of his, he'd taken a great deal of pleasure in thinking about the kind of clothes he wanted her to wear, but now that she was wearing something other than that godawful black velvet excuse for a dress, she looked even better than she had in the exotic outfits she'd worn in his imagination. Today's delectation was a tailored suit in a rather startling shade of lavender. He'd always heard redheads shouldn't wear lavender, but she managed to pull it off. On a gray, cold and rainy day like this, it was a welcome bright spot.

"Wipe your chin, you're drooling," her sour comment interrupted his thoughts.

"Sorry, that color got me to thinking of cotton candy," he said, leering at her cheerfully. "You look absolutely edible."

Morris looked shocked, but Dorothy shrugged it off. "You'd break your teeth," she said.

"I wasn't planning to bite," he smirked.

"That's enough repartee," she snapped. "Let's get going, I have a lot to do this afternoon, and we're late as it is."

"If we're lucky, this shouldn't take long," he said, motioning her ahead with an extravagant gesture. "Youth before beauty."

To his surprise, the corners of her mouth quirked upward. "Jake should lead the way, then, and we can have a beauty contest to decide who goes next" she said. "I really am sorry we were late, and I didn't mean to be snappish with you--it's just been a long day."

"Don't worry about it," Jason said, opening the door and allowing the pair to precede him. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you weren't dripping sarcasm all over me." He winked at her to show he was teasing and followed them inside.

* * *

Roger stood watching the drops of rain land and slide down the solarium door. While he had long ago accepted that daily life couldn't possibly be as perfect and magical as the night of Dorothy's emancipation party, the contrast between that evening and today was downright... depressing. Even here in his usually inviolable sanctum, he could hear the loud wailing of Jake's little sister from downstairs.

He liked children, he truly did. He fully understood that even the most well-behaved children could be absolute little monsters at times. He still vividly remembered pacing back and forth for more than an hour with a colicky infant against his shoulder to give an exhausted and frantic Dan a chance to drink the coffee Norman had made him. A few months after Jimmy was born, Dan had taken him out for a walk to give Angel a chance to get a nap after a couple of wakeful nights, and it had unexpectedly begun pouring rain. As chance had it, Roger had been on his way home and spotted them, and had brought them back to the mansion, with Jimmy wailing at the top of his lungs for the entire trip.

These things were an expected part of dealing with young children. After some vigorous back-patting, Jimmy had emitted some very loud belches, spit up on the rag Norman had fortunately insisted on putting over Roger's shoulder, and then he had promptly fallen asleep. While Roger didn't appreciate the noise, he could sympathize with the discomfort the child must have been experiencing. The rag had taken care of most of the mess, and the prompt application of a damp sponge to his jacket sleeve had been sufficient for the rest.

Jake's sister, on the other hand... she was clearly used to getting her own way, and had learned to enforce her wishes by throwing a tantrum every time she was denied. Jake was usually able to calm her down--he was wonderfully patient with her--but Roger now understood why the boy had thrown himself so wholeheartedly into his new job with Norman. It was obvious he loved his sister dearly, but it was equally obvious that he missed the peace and quiet now that his family was also staying at the mansion.

Still, there really hadn't been much choice about it. A few days after the party, he had brought the boy over to their apartment building to find Mrs. Morris frantically trying figure out what was wrong with the phone so she could call the police. She'd seen someone on the fire escape trying to pry open the window. Their timely arrival had frightened the intruder away, but further investigation revealed the phone line had been cut, and the couple of items Roger found on the fire escape while Jake was trying to calm his hysterical mother led him to believe that the intent had been kidnapping.

There was nothing to be done but to get the family out of there. Roger had Jake help them pack some clothes and brought them to the mansion for the interim.

Mrs. Morris seemed a nice-enough lady, but she had a tendency to flutter, and the slightest difficulty seemed to leave her wringing her hands and hysterical. Norman had been running himself ragged for the last three weeks trying to take care of the many things Mrs. Morris couldn't seem to handle, and even Jake's much-admired patience was showing signs of fraying around the edges. Even worse was that the apartment wasn't going to be ready for another two to four weeks--the current tenant had not been able to move out because his new apartment was still being renovated.

Roger didn't know if he could handle another two to four weeks of Missy's tantrums.

He sighed and left the window, debating whether or not he should intervene. Dorothy and Jake wouldn't be back for a few hours yet, and he had sent Norman out on an errand with strict instructions that his butler was not to return home until he'd also gotten a nice lunch and had a beer or two at his favorite pub and visited with some of his cronies--the poor man needed the peace and quiet more than any of them because he'd been dealing with it the most. The noise level grew louder and Roger sighed again. If he wanted to get anything done this afternoon, he supposed he'd have to at least make an appearance. Missy still seemed to be a little in awe of him, and sometimes a stern word from him would get her to settle down. Sometimes.

"I was trying to look at the big machine!" her voice carried clearly up to the first landing. "Why can't I look at it?"

Roger moved more swiftly. It was bad enough that the little imp had pulled all the books that she could reach off the shelves earlier when she was caught poking around Roger's office. Dorothy had refused to leave until the mess was cleaned up, and it was at that point that Roger had invented Norman's errand. Mrs. Morris' reply was inaudible, undoubtedly the woman was wringing her hands again.

He was headed towards the hangar entrance when he heard a very familiar rumble, but in a sharp tone he didn't think he'd ever heard before. "The big machine doesn't want to look at little girls who won't mind their mother." Roger thought of beating a hasty retreat the way he had come, but if the child was wreaking enough havoc to have gotten Big O's attention... For a mercy, the noise had stopped. Sheer surprise, no doubt. He was just in time to catch Mrs. Morris as she fainted dead away in reaction to the voice in her mind. He set her gently down on the floor and chafed her wrists as Missy looked around curiously. "Who talked to me?" she demanded.

"I did," the Megadeus answered immediately.

"Why can't I look at you?" Missy asked.

"Because you aren't supposed to be in that room by yourself." Big O said. "There are things in there that aren't safe for a little girl to play with."

"I won't be alone if Mommy brings me," she said defiantly.

"It's not up to your Mommy." Big O figuratively waved aside the frantic mental apology Roger made him. "The only person who can give you permission is me."

"Roger can give me permission," she said. "He owns everything in this house, including you!"

"I'm afraid not," Roger said, temporarily giving up on his efforts to revive Mrs. Morris. He made sure she was securely braced in a sitting position and turned to her daughter. "Big O is my guest and my friend, and if he doesn't want to see you, then we have to abide by his wishes."

Missy chewed on the end of her thumb as she thought it over. "Can I come and look at you if I promise to be good?"

"You promised Jake you would be good," that note of sternness was back in Big O's tone. "He's going to be very disappointed to find out that you broke your word."

The child started to cry again, but this time it seemed she was genuinely distressed. "I didn't mean to!" she whimpered.

Roger took a step towards her in an automatic gesture to soothe her, but stopped at Big O's private request to wait. "If you can go a whole day without having a tantrum, perhaps Dorothy or Roger can bring you in to visit me tomorrow," the Megadeus said.

"Do you promise?" she asked immediately.

"How can you be sure I won't break my promise like you broke your promise to Jake?" Roger carefully kept his face neutral, holding back a chuckle. In all honesty, even though she'd annoyed the hell out of all of them, Missy really wasn't a bad child. In fact, he was willing to bet that half her problem was that she was very, very bright and bored to tears, which was always a bad combination in a child not yet old enough to have good judgment. Big O's words were exactly what were needed to give that active young mind something to engage it.. "You think about that, and if you don't have any tantrums, we can talk more about it tomorrow."

"What if I forget?" she said, a little worried frown on her face.

"Then you'll have to wait until the day after tomorrow," the Megadeus said. "And if not the day after tomorrow, the day after that, until you go a whole day without having a tantrum."

The child nodded. As the sense of the Megadeus' presence receded to the background, Roger turned his attention back to Mrs. Morris, who was showing signs of recovery. "Mommy, the big machine says I can come and visit him if I'm good," she told her mother excitedly.

"If you don't have any tantrums," Roger reminded her, helping her mother up. "I don't know about you two, but I'm getting hungry. Why don't we see about getting some lunch?" Hopefully the distraction would prevent another episode of hysterics.

* * *

Luck was _not _with them today. Jason made a disgusted noise as the latest test run produced yet _another_ error. "This doesn't make sense," he growled. "This is a standard diagnostic, it shouldn't be giving us trouble!"

"I wonder if it went into lockdown mode due to a sabotage attempt," Dorothy said calmly, looking something like a Medusa with the multiple strands of wires plugged in through her CD port.

Jason wished he'd known that she could voluntarily eject the entire drive as well as open it--it would have saved him a hell of a lot of work when Big Venus had entered his mind to direct Dorothy's repair during the Event. He still didn't remember it clearly, it was as though he'd been in some kind of trance, but compared to the Memories most people had lost, well, he wasn't going to complain about it. "If that's the case, we don't know the codes and we'll have to start with a full wipe," Jason said. "There's one more thing I can try, but I'll need some time to get it ready. Unless you think a full wipe is advisable?"

Dorothy had an inward look, as if she were listening to someone, but the expression passed quickly. "Let's leave that as a last resort," she said. One by one, she removed the wires, coiled them up and carefully stowed them away in the built-in drawer, then returned the cd drive to its slot and ran a brush through her hair. "Thank you, Jason. I know it's been an annoying session." She helped him put away his tools and left without further conversation, which was fine by him--if he were lucky, he could still catch up with Tate. He left the garage right behind Dorothy and Morris, and hurried off in the opposite direction.

It was obvious to her that Jake had something to say, and she had a pretty good idea she knew what it was, but she waited until they were out of earshot of the Military Police complex before she brought it up. "I suppose you're wondering why I don't get upset with him when he talks to me the way he does," Dorothy said.

"It wasn't right," Morris said earnestly.

"I've known Jason Beck for a long time," she said. "I suspect that he did that hoping that it would upset you enough to say something to Roger."

"Why would he do that?" the boy looked confused, and Dorothy didn't blame him. It had taken her quite a while to figure it out herself.

"Because nothing would amuse him more than to think that Roger was annoyed," she said. "Surely you've noticed by now that Roger has nothing good to say about him."

"He didn't seem _that_ awful," Morris admitted. "Not as bad as Mr. Smith made him out to be, anyway."

"He made some poor decisions," Dorothy said. "There was a time when he caused some real problems for us. However, when it came down to the final decision, he chose to be one of the good guys, and I don't think Roger can ever forgive him that."

"But you do?" Morris frowned.

"I do," Dorothy said. "He was very... kind to me once, and at great personal risk. He was sorry for his mistake, and to be fair, he wasn't entirely responsible for his own actions. No, the real problem is that they're too much alike."

"He's nothing like Mr. Smith!" the boy protested.

"And both of them would undoubtedly say the same, but they are," Dorothy said. "The real difference between Roger Smith and Jason Beck is that Roger learned to leash his impulses whereas Jason is only now just learning how."

"I don't know..." Jake said.

"I think if you watch them for a while, you'll understand what I mean," she said. "Or ask Norman what he thinks. I'd just as soon you not mention it to Roger at all."

"What do you think he would do?" Morris looked at her curiously.

Dorothy stopped abruptly and clenched her fists. "Contemptible bastard!" she hissed in a very good imitation of Roger at his most outraged.

Morris couldn't help but laugh. "I understand now." He did an equally good imitation of his mother. "Let sleeping dogs lie, there's no need to borrow trouble!"

"Exactly," Dorothy said. "Speaking of which, Roger must be at his wits' end without Norman there. We'd better hurry."

"You're probably right," Jake said, and began walking more quickly.

* * *

To both Dorothy and Jake's surprise, they returned to a very peaceful household. Missy was very happily helping Roger work on an hourglass, and Mrs. Morris was settled down with a hot cup of tea and a magazine. Dorothy got dinner started, and a much more relaxed Norman arrived home in time to help her serve it.

It wasn't until Missy's bedtime that Dorothy had an inkling of what had caused the sudden change. The little girl was obviously tired, but started to kick up a fuss when her mother suggested it was time for bed. She was taking a deep breath in preparation for going into full howl when they all heard what could only be described as a polite throat-clearing--if, of course, a Megadeus had a throat that could be cleared. Missy immediately stopped arguing. Roger was quick to praise her. "We all get out of sorts when we're tired," he confided. "It's much easier to be good when you're well rested."

"C'mon, Missy, I'll read you a story," Jake said, seizing the opportunity, and she obediently followed her brother to their rooms.

"You must have had an interesting afternoon," Dorothy said to Roger later that evening after Mrs. Morris and Jake had also retired for the night.

"I think he was tired of the noise," Roger said, chuckling a little. "I know I was. How did the testing go?"

"Poorly," Dorothy said. "I need to go and speak to him, and I'd like you to come with me to save me having to explain twice."

"Of course," Roger said.

It didn't take long for Dorothy to outline the situation, having already transmitted the bare bones earlier, and a half a moment later, Big O offered another possible, if time-consuming, solution. In a quick burst of data, Dorothy now had a list of all the known override codes stored in her memory, along with the Megadeus' best guess as to which one had most likely been used on Big Trey. With this settled, the conversation turned to the Morrises.

"It was nice of you to give Missy that little reminder," Roger said. "I've never seen her settle down so fast!"

"She won't need to be reminded for long," Big O said with a tone of satisfaction. "I'm very pleased with her. She's an excellent candidate, assuming of course that she can overcome this unfortunate habit of screaming until she gets her way."

"Candidate?" Roger felt a sudden lurching in his stomach. Was Big O planning on _replacing_ him?

"Not for a good long time, but surely the day will come when you'll be ready to retire," his companion's amused rumble got Roger's immediate attention

"I hadn't thought about that," he admitted, feeling a little embarrassed at his own reaction.

"By the time she's old enough, you'll be almost fifty." Big O reminded him. "I wouldn't wish for a beloved pilot to be lost before his time because his body had grown older and his reflexes failed him. There are several potential candidates, as there must be, but I have a... hunch, if you will, that she'll be the one to succeed. She's very strong-willed, yet she has a kind heart, although she hides it right now, and that's necessary for those who fight with us."

"Like..." Dorothy stopped the words before they came out of her mouth. "Like Jason Beck" had been what she had been about to say. In a flash of insight, she had realized that the similarities she had observed in Roger's and Jason's personalities existed for a reason.

"Indeed," Big O's thought was directed at her alone. "Should Roger Smith be unable to defend the city through illness or injury or untimely death, Jason Beck will answer my call, and," there was another flash of amusement, "he'll undoubtedly be quite annoyed about it."

"Like..." Roger prompted, unaware of what had passed between his companions.

"Like her brother," Dorothy quickly covered her lapse. "I have no doubt that Big Trey will accept him once he's restored."

"I'm sure you're right," Roger said. They left the Megadeus to his silent vigil and went to the kitchen. Roger made himself a sandwich while Dorothy made some tea.

"I talked to Jake about his mother a little while we were walking home," Dorothy told him when they sat down at the kitchen table. "From what he told me, his mother wasn't always like this. The family was able to deal with the Event fairly well, but three years ago, Mr. Morris didn't come home from work. At first they thought there had been an accident, but there was no call or knock at the door to give them the bad news, and no one fitting his description had been brought to the hospital. There was the usual talk that he'd abandoned the family, but two different private detectives could find no trace of the man. Jake said that his mother seemed to be handling things okay at first, but as time went on with no news at all, his mother seemed to become increasingly... unbalanced, although of course he didn't put it quite that way."

"She probably could have handled the Event itself, or handled her husband's disappearance, but with both, it was too much for her," Roger said, debating on whether he needed another sandwich. His appetite had increased quite a bit since he was piloting Big O regularly, but he didn't want to overdo it.

"Yes," Dorothy said. "Jake said that there was a time when she'd cry every time he left the house, but that it had improved after a year or so. She won't let Missy out of her sight unless she's with her brother, though, even now."

"Missy is almost old enough to start school, isn't she?" Roger asked.

"Next fall," Dorothy said. "Jake said that he thought his mother would be fine with that, at least he did until just recently."

"Who could blame her after what happened?" He gave up the battle with his appetite when his stomach growled loudly.

"Put some extra mayonnaise on that, you're losing weight and you don't need to," she said as he got up to make another sandwich.

"It seemed to me that my pants were shrinking not all that long ago," he observed, although he did take her advice.

"Perhaps they were before we started going out dancing, but that was more than a year ago," she said. "If you lose any more weight you're going to have to have your suits altered."

She was right about that, too, now that he was paying attention. He was tempted to tease her about noticing his physique, but he decided against it. "I miss going dancing," he said, sitting down at the table with the second sandwich.

"It might be nice to go out this weekend," she said. "I think it would reduce some of the stress if we were to get out of the house for a while."

"And here I thought you liked to dance," he said.

"I do," she said. "There's no reason an action can't serve multiple purposes, although it will do nothing for _my_ weight."

Roger grinned at her. "At least you're graceful enough not to step on my toes," he said, finishing the sandwich and leaning back contentedly. "Oh, I meant to ask you something. Have you decided on whether you'll want an office for the foundation yet?" Dorothy had accepted his job offer the morning after the party, and was somehow managing to get things organized despite the other demands on her time.

"Not for the moment," Dorothy said. "I'd rather put that money aside for now--if it's invested carefully, by the time we actually need our own space, the income alone should pay for a good portion of the expenses."

Roger nodded and then yawned. Now that he was comfortably full and finally sitting still, he realized how tired he was. "I guess I should go to bed," he said, getting up from the table. "I have another early appointment tomorrow."

"I'll wipe down the table and counter," she said when she saw him turn to the sink. "Get some sleep."

"Don't forget you need to rest too," he said, but she had already taken the dishrag and was wiping the counter. "Just let me know where you want to go," he said. "That way I can make reservations if they're needed."

"I will," she said. "Goodnight, Roger."

"Good night," he said, and headed for his room. As he got into his pajamas, he wondered how many other pilots had been lucky enough to grow old enough to need to retire. He doubted there were many. While it was hard to picture himself growing old and gray, barring accident or some new threat to the city, one day it would happen. Perhaps this new stability was the reason that Big O had been so much more communicative lately--the situation was just as novel to him as it was to everyone else, and he was still finding his way. It was almost as hard to imagine Big O not being sure of himself as it was to imagine his own face thirty or forty years from now, but that comment about not wanting to lose a beloved pilot before his time had held an undertone of deep sadness that Roger had seldom witnessed in his friend. Big O's mind seemed so vast that sometimes Roger felt like he was in direct communication with a God. Like the biblical deity, was Big O aware of every sparrow's fall? Did he mourn the loss? Was he communicating more because he was allowing himself to hope that this time there would be a future?

He was still thinking about it when sleep overtook him.


	11. Chapter 11

Dorothy was tired. Roger wasn't sure how he knew that, because of course she didn't show any of the physical signs like dark circles under her eyes, but there was no doubt in his mind that she was worn out.

Tonight was the night they had intended to go dancing, but he had the feeling that instead of being something she was looking forward to, it had somehow become just another chore on her ever-lengthening list. He knew she wouldn't say anything about it, not when she'd been the one to suggest it in the first place. It was amazing what he was noticing now that he was paying proper attention.

Well, he could at least offer her the option to back out gracefully. He went downstairs to look for her and caught her in the hallway on her way up to her room. "Do you have a minute?" he asked.

"Only a minute if I'm going to be ready to go on time," she said.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," he said. He chose his next words carefully, not wanting to put her on the defensive. "I know things have been very busy for you, and I just wanted to remind you that if you're too tired to have a good time when we go somewhere, I wouldn't be offended if you wanted to reschedule, with one condition."

She _was_ tired, because the expression on her face was positively grateful. "What's the condition?" she asked.

"That you spend at least part of the evening relaxing with me instead of using the time to get more work done," he said.

"Agreed," she said immediately. "Do you want to try for next weekend?"

"Let's play it by ear and see how much energy we have," he suggested. "I have a feeling we're both going to be tired until things get back to normal around here."

She nodded. "Hopefully it will just be another few weeks."

"I've been tempted to show up at that other apartment to check on the renovations myself," he said with a rueful grin. "I'm going to grab something to eat. Meet me up in the solarium in say..." he looked at his watch, "an hour?"

"An hour and a half, if you don't mind," Dorothy said. "It will be nice to have enough time for a good soak instead of having to hurry through it so I can get dressed and leave again."

"I'll see you in an hour, then," Roger said, and headed off to the kitchen. Interesting--not that Dorothy bathed, because androids got dirty and needed to wash just the same as anyone--but he didn't know that she liked taking long soaks. Did it relax the android version of muscles the same way it did for human muscles, or did she just enjoy the quiet? He would have to ask her if she didn't object to the subject.

* * *

Beck furiously crumpled up the piece of paper he'd been using to jot down notes. Why, when things finally seemed to be going the way he wanted them to, did everything always turn to shit?

He hadn't been able to catch up with Tate last week, and had taken a chance and bought the painting anyway.

Tate's laughter when it had arrived at the shop two days ago and they'd unwrapped it had been worse than if he'd gotten angry. It was humiliating enough that it was a forgery of a famous painting, but worse, it was a _bad_ forgery. Jason hadn't stuck around to be told he'd been a fool, he already knew that.

At the moment, he was trying to prepare the workaround he'd told Dorothy about, but he was having trouble with that, too. It occurred to him that maybe his bad mood was interfering with his concentration, so he decided he'd just take a walk around the block to try to clear his head. He slipped the pages of his programming under the false bottom of his desk drawer--it wouldn't do to leave that kind of thing out where just anyone could see it! It was raining yet again, so he grabbed a hat and left his apartment.

He ended up going quite a bit further than a few blocks, but he had to admit he was feeling calmer. Tate _had_ laughed, so maybe things weren't as bleak as they seemed. And now that he'd spent an hour away from the code, he'd thought of a possible solution to his problem.

It was getting dark and he was hungry. He thought briefly about going out for his supper and a beer, but his wandering had brought him close to home again, and he didn't have much money on him. Besides, he had a half of a chicken in the refrigerator and some potatoes that were going to start sprouting if he didn't use them pretty quickly. Hard to believe he'd ever be concerned about potatoes sprouting, but he'd turned into a regular homebody since he'd started working at the gallery. Tate was a thrifty man for all of his generosity, and Jason had taken his advice and discovered he preferred his own cooking, simple as it was, to a fancy meal at a restaurant. The other bonus was that he wasn't sitting around getting drunk and babbling his plans to his buddies like an idiot. In the art world, being able to keep things to yourself was one of the most valuable traits you could possess.

It was the hat and the twilight that saved him.

He was approaching his building when he saw a couple of tough-looking men on the stoop. Something about the way they were standing set off alarm bells in his head. He crossed the street, keeping his pace brisk, making like he didn't even see them. His hair would usually have been a dead give-away, but the hat hid most of it and the dimness seemed to be taking care of the rest. He continued up the street and made a right turn at the next intersection, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his apartment as possible.

There was only one reason he could think of that someone would be looking for him. His art purchases had all been aboveboard, he'd paid off the few debts he had... so that left someone who wanted to ask him questions about Big Trey. He thought of going to the garage where he kept his car, but whoever it was probably had someone watching that building, too. He sure as hell wasn't going to go to the gallery and drag Tate into it. Dammit, why hadn't he grabbed some money before he left? He quickened his pace when he heard footsteps behind him.

* * *

Roger made a quick meal of some leftovers and brought up a little tray of things that he knew Dorothy liked. As she'd often told him, she didn't really have a sense of taste, but she did enjoy the contrast between hot and cold food, or the crunch of a cracker, or the silkiness of Brie at the proper temperature. When she joined him in the solarium, he was able to convince her to take a glass of wine with him, even though she made her usual protest that it would be a waste since she could neither taste nor become inebriated by it. She'd brought some kind of magazine or brochure with her, but she simply placed it on the coffee table and settled down to chat with him.

The conversation flowed easily over a few hands of cards. Yes, she liked a hot soak because it gave her a sense of relaxation, but she also liked it because it conserved her energy by warming her. Roger had long ago figured out that she had some means of regulating her body temperature--even Big O had heating and cooling systems to keep him in optimum working order. He wondered why it had been so difficult for him to ask her about it before--she'd never given him any indication that she'd take offense over an honest question, and he said as much.

"Perhaps it's because of Missy," she said. "You know she asks questions all the time, you've heard her. I don't mind, it's natural for a child to be curious and she's bright and notices a lot of things, but I have to admit that I wasn't sure how to handle the last one she asked!"

Roger grinned in anticipation. "Caught you by surprise, did she?"

"It was the last thing I expected. Apparently she's seen me eating and drinking, and she wanted to know why I didn't have to use the bathroom," Dorothy said.

Oddly, the subject didn't seem as embarrassing as it might have in the past.. "I don't know how I would have handled that," he said, chuckling a little. "What did you tell her?"

"I had to think about it --I could have given her all the mechanical details, but I didn't think they would make any sense to her. Finally I told her that I do need to use it, but much less often than a human does."

"And then she asked..." Roger knew right away that the answer wouldn't have been enough to satisfy the child.

"She wanted to know why. I explained that my body breaks down most of the food and extracts the water, so there is very little waste. She seemed puzzled by that, but then I thought of that instant soup Norman keeps on hand, and I showed her how it didn't take up much space, which gave her the idea at least. She asked me what happened if I ate something bad, and I told her that the heat that helps take out the water keeps bad food from hurting me. She pondered on that for a few minutes and then told me a story, complete with sound effects, about the last time _she_ ate something bad."

Roger couldn't speak for a moment, he was laughing so hard. "I shouldn't laugh," he finally gasped. "It's just that I can picture her telling you every last gory detail!"

He saw that she was smiling. "I thought you would find it funny," she said, clearly pleased that she had successfully anticipated his reaction. "I begin to understand why you might have found some of my early questions disconcerting."

"I think it's the innocence," he mused. "It's the total faith that there _is_ an answer and that you will provide it. Wait until she starts asking you some tough ones."

"What, like why I have my own room instead of sharing yours?" she said. "She already asked. I said we weren't married. Then she wanted to know why we weren't married. I said it was complicated and she wanted to know what was complicated about it because it was perfectly obvious to her we were in love. Then, just for a change of pace, she wanted to know if you calling me R. Dorothy Wayneright meant I was in _big _trouble. I didn't have an answer to that, I said she'd have to ask you."

Roger could feel his face turning red and tried to hide it by pretending to be exasperated. "She doesn't miss a damn thing, does she?"

"I never understood why you would say my full name like that either," Dorothy seemed very interested in the answer. "I understand it means you're annoyed, but you don't do it every time you're annoyed with me."

"Ancient human tradition," Roger said, glad to ignore the other questions. "Usually it means the other person is at their wit's end and very frustrated. You've heard Missy's mother do it."

"Melissa Anne Morris! And usually after she's been getting into one piece of mischief after another," Dorothy said.

"Exactly," Roger said. "I suppose I do it more out of habit than anything, now. Just something about how it sounds, I guess. More impressive."

"I see," Dorothy said. "So the next time I'm very annoyed with you, I can call you Roger Marion Litchfield Smith the Fourth?"

Roger choked on his wine.

* * *

Beck got ahead enough of his pursuers to be out of sight and quickly ducked into an alleyway. He was soaked to the skin, his legs were aching and he had a stitch in his side, but a half an hour later, it looked like he had been successful in eluding them, at least for the moment. "Think!" he told himself. "Think while you have the chance!" He had several potential allies, but until he had a better idea of who was looking for him, he didn't dare trust anyone.

What he needed was to come up with a plan to buy himself some time. First, he had to find somewhere safer than where he was. Second, he needed to get dry and warm and rest for a little while. Once those two things were taken care of, then he could worry about getting some money. If they'd ransacked his apartment, his stash was probably gone, but he could borrow some cash from the gallery--if he left a note, Tate would probably be annoyed, but he wouldn't consider it stealing.

Thank goodness he'd let Tate talk him into putting some of his pay into the bank! It wasn't that the old man didn't see the need to keep cash around, because he did so himself, he just thought it was better to spread it out a little. "What if there were a fire?" he'd asked Jason. "All the money would be burned up, and what would you do then?" He'd grabbed his wallet, at least, and had his identification, so he could pay Tate back as soon as the bank opened on Monday. It was too bad Jason hadn't gotten himself that little safe like he'd been thinking about instead of using his sock drawer, but at least he wasn't penniless.

Tate would have closed up and left by now, and with him out of harm's way, going to the gallery was probably the smartest thing to do. In addition to borrowing the money, he could change into the spare work clothes and non-skid shoes he kept in the back room for when they were moving the artwork around, and it was a lot warmer there than it was in this alley. Hopefully there would be some food there too, doughnuts or something, and he could make some coffee if the old man had remembered to buy any.

He was, by his estimation, less than 10 blocks from the building, and he definitely couldn't hide here all night. He left the alleyway, staying in the shadows. With any luck, he'd be in a cab on the way to a hotel within an hour.

* * *

"The emancipation papers," Roger said after he recovered from his choking fit, which had required the assistance of several thumps between the shoulder blades from Dorothy. "That's where you saw my full name. I never use it unless I absolutely have to--I think that it's the only thing I got from my adoptive parents that I didn't appreciate."

"It is rather long," Dorothy said.

"I'll be happy to stop calling you R. Dorothy if you'll avoid using my full name in return," Roger offered.

"We'll see. In any event, it's R. E. Dorothy now," she reminded him. "Robot, Emancipated."

"R. E. Dorothy Wayneright..." he tried it on for size. "I don't know, it just doesn't roll off the tongue in the same way," he said. "I probably shouldn't be doing it anyway--you're not a child to be scolded."

"In public, at least," she said. She picked up the magazine--no, a catalog, now that he could see it--that she had put on the coffee table earlier. "I would like to do one thing tonight that might be construed as work," she said, "Although it's not a lot of work."

"What would that be?" he asked.

"I would like you to go through this with me, there are several things I want to show you," she said. "I know how much you dislike Heaven's Day, but if we plan ahead, the shopping shouldn't be too painful."

It was only October! Heaven's Day was the least of their worries! He opened his mouth to complain, and closed it again. "Are you sure we need to think about that right now?" he said in a deliberately mild tone. She already knew how much he detested Heaven's Day, so there was obviously a reason she was risking his wrath to bring it up.

She moved closer so he could look over her shoulder, and he put an arm around her, which almost made the task bearable. "I think it would make things easier," she said. "Even if we don't order from this, to have an idea of what we want to get means that we don't have to spend a lot of time walking around the stores at the last minute."

He soon realized that she took a great deal of pleasure in imagining the pleased reaction of the gift's recipient, and he had to admit that when he looked at it the way she did, it was almost... fun. They went through the list fairly quickly, with Roger adding a suggestion here and there, but she had a very good idea of the kinds of things that would be appreciated--a new stroller that would accommodate both an infant and toddler for Angel and Dan, tools for Jake, a magazine subscription for Mrs. Morris. She wasn't sure about getting Missy something educational or something to encourage physical activity. That was when he found out that she had begun tutoring the child at Big O's request. Good heavens, no wonder she was so tired! She wasn't getting a moment to herself!

"It really isn't that much of a problem," Dorothy said. "I'm working with her for an hour or so in the morning, just basic reading and simple math, and then in the afternoon we visit Big O and she goes over her lesson with him. It helps keep her out of trouble. We didn't think Mrs. Morris would accept us hiring someone for her--assuming, of course, that we could find someone who could keep up with her."

"I think you're right, but let's at least divide up the schedule a little," he said. "I don't know if I'm much of a teacher, but I can at least bring her to see Big O in the afternoon."

"You haven't been home in the afternoon very often lately," Dorothy said.

That was true, too, he'd had a lot of work recently. "I don't see any reason I can't rearrange things a little. I'll just take a late lunch," he said. "I'm sure Norman would be willing to fill in on afternoons when I can't get free."

"I'm sure he would too," Dorothy said, "but she's already spending time with him and Jake, they've been letting her watch them work after she's done visiting Big O. She knows how much Jake likes machines, so she wants to work on machines too. Norman has her working on a simple model of the Griffon, she really seems to be enjoying putting it together."

"You should have said something," Roger said. "I know you're capable of handling a lot, but even you have limits. If worse comes to worst, I'll hire someone to at least come in to help with the cooking and cleaning."

"That might have been useful at the beginning, but it seems a waste to do it now," she said. "Once the Morrises have their own apartment again, we'll just be dealing with a visit a couple of days a week, rather than having them full time."

"Even so, you don't have to do everything yourself," he said. "If your days are so full that you don't even have enough time to lie down for five or six hours, you're doing too much."

"I've been resting, honestly, just not long enough," she said. "I usually catch up on the weekend when Jake is home during the day. Today I intended to sleep late and then nap for a few hours in the afternoon, but Missy was up earlier than usual this morning, then one of the people I've been trying to meet with for the foundation finally called. She was booked solid during regular business hours for weeks, so we met for lunch. It was good, we got a lot of things set up, but by the time I got home, there wasn't any time left."

"Days like this are the reason you aren't supposed to be shorting yourself in the first place," he said. "I have no objection if you put the foundation work on hold until the Morrises are settled."

"I didn't want to do that because we're coming into the season of greatest need," she said. "I'll be able to catch up tonight, Missy gave me her solemn word that if she woke up early, she'd get Jake It doesn't hurt me to go without resting, Roger."

"I don't know if that's entirely true," he said. "I'm not sure how I knew, but I could tell you were tired." He thought about it for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what had given him that idea. "I don't know how to describe it. I can't say you're having trouble moving in the same sense that Norman does when his arthritis bothers him, but it's almost like your muscles are a little stiff, like they're aching a bit, not enough to stop you, but enough to slow you down."

She was surprised he'd noticed, he could tell.. "Ache is a reasonable word for it," she said, "although you know I don't feel pain the same way you do. It's a... slowness, a heaviness. The material used for my muscles is very strong and flexible, but will develop small tears and weak spots during use. Usually that gets repaired when I rest, but if I don't rest long enough, the problems accumulate, and as a result, I move more slowly and don't have quite the same level of flexibility. It doesn't do long-term harm, though."

"Unless a small weak spot becomes a big tear because you overdid it," he said. "Then it takes several days to repair, and sometimes Norman's intervention, isn't that true?"

"Only if I should suddenly need above average strength or speed," she said, "which is unlikely if I'm just going to be watching Missy or doing paperwork."

"You never know," he said. "Unlikely isn't the same thing as impossible." He put his hands on her shoulders, massaging lightly. "How does this feel?" he asked after a few minutes.

"It's very pleasant," she said. "Relaxing."

"That's what I like about it," he said, beginning to work in earnest. Really, her back didn't feel any different than any other woman's, other than that her muscles seemed more wiry and better defined. He could detect tight spots that he assumed were areas of stress, and they relaxed as he massaged. The one difference was that he could feel that her temperature was rising steadily as he worked. "Why is your back getting warmer?" he asked. There was no reply, and a moment later, he realized she was sleeping.

Her temperature seemed to have stabilized, and he continued on half-heartedly for a while longer. The solarium was cooling down as the night grew later, and the warmth that radiated from her was making him drowsy. It would do no harm to let her nap for a while, he decided. He settled himself more comfortably and pulled her against his chest, then wrapped his arms around her. Before much longer, he too was dozing.

* * *

The only thing that was missing was a dry pair of socks, and those would be forthcoming shortly, with the help of the radiator. Jason carefully put his suit on a hanger and slid a plastic bag over it, hanging it on the hook behind the door for the time being. His shoes were probably ruined, but he put them in another bag and put it on the floor near the suit. He'd cleaned the twenties out of the cash register, replacing them with a brief note that told Tate the amount he'd borrowed, explaining that he'd had an emergency, been caught without cash and that he would return it as soon as he could get to the bank.

As he waited for his socks, he ran a comb through his hair, thankful again that he'd thought to wear the hat. He didn't dare put it on the radiator the way he had with his socks, he didn't want the felt to shrink, but it seemed to be drying out nicely. He'd found some slightly stale pastries, which he'd made short work of, and was on his second cup of coffee. Now that he was warm, dry, and had something in his belly, he needed to make a real plan.

His best bet, he decided, was to go to a hotel for the rest of the weekend. A lack of luggage wouldn't arouse comment if he came in with suit, briefcase, and a story about his car breaking down after a late meeting with a client. A decent hotel would have a dry-cleaning service, and he could go and buy another dress shirt, socks and shoes tomorrow during the day.

First thing Monday, he could pay a visit to the Military Police and talk to whoever was investigating the attempted kidnapping of young Morris' mother and sister. If they played it right, maybe they could get a lead on who was behind it all. He had no objection to playing decoy as long as he had backup. He relaxed over the rest of his coffee, decided his socks were dry enough and put them on, then got his spare shoes.

That left only the briefcase. There were a couple in the office, used for carrying small items. He picked the one that seemed best for his cover story and opened it up. He was glad he had, because there were a couple of valuable items inside. He'd wrap them and put them in the safe, he decided. He fetched some tissue paper and wrote another note just in case Tate noticed the briefcase was missing and thought he'd been robbed. He put the briefcase next to the safe and put each object away as he got it wrapped.

He was putting the final item into the safe when a voice startled him. "Stop what you're doing and put your hands over your head!"

"Huh?" it took a second to register that he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

* * *

Roger looked at the clock and saw it was a little after one. He must have been just as tired as Dorothy! "Hey," he gave her a gentle shake.

Her eyes opened and she sat up. "We were sleeping!" she said, looking at the time.

"Both of us are overtired," he said, shivering a little now that she wasn't leaning against him. He was going to have to start using the heat overnight now that winter was on the way.

"It's cold in here," she said, quickly getting up and lighting the gas fireplace. He joined her in drawing the floor-to-ceiling draperies closed. When they were finished, they both huddled around the fire. It didn't take very long for it to become hot enough that Roger had to back away, with Dorothy doing the same a moment later.

Roger got up and went into his room briefly to grab a blanket. "Before I realized you'd nodded off, I asked why you were suddenly getting warmer," he said, stopping to pour himself a nightcap.

Dorothy shook her head at his offer of another drink and he came back and sat down on the floor next to her, draping the blanket around his shoulders. He slipped off his shoes and stretched out his toes towards the fireplace "The extra warmth speeds the repair process," she said. "I don't have to have it, but then I need to rest longer for the same result. I've been using it a lot lately so I get the maximum possible benefit no matter how long I'm able to sleep. I would have told you about it if I'd realized I was going to doze off like that."

"You were more tired than you realized," he said.

"More comfortable, actually," she said. "It's the same for me as it is for you--in order to sleep, I have to be relaxed. I remember thinking about how nice it was to stop worrying about everything for a little while, and how pleasant it was to have my shoulders rubbed, and the next thing I knew, you were waking me up."

"I'll do it for you again, then, if you enjoy it," he promised. "I should go to bed, I suppose."

"It's late," she agreed, but he noticed she didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. They both stared at the flames for a while. "I don't think we've ever talked this much about the physical differences between android and human before ," she observed.

"I worried that it might be a poor choice of topic," Roger said, "under the circumstances. Once I realized you weren't just imitating humans, I also realized that asking the wrong question might hurt your feelings or make you uncomfortable, and when Norman got those schematics and told me just what type of android you were, well... it seemed better to leave it alone."

"Does it bother you?" Her tone was matter-of-fact, but he knew she was asking much more than that.

"Sometimes," he said, "although not for the reasons you might suppose. Generally, androids made for pleasure don't have sufficient capacity to be self-aware, and I think that's as it should be. Otherwise, it's a particularly ugly form of slavery. Your father gave you the capacity to be conscious, his daughter's memories, and..." he knew he was turning red again, but dammit, they _needed_ to have this conversation! He searched for the best way to put it. "...let's call it the knowledge of a courtesan," he said, and was relieved when she nodded agreement. "What that says about him, and what it must have been like for you," Roger finished, "bothers me a great deal."

"There have been times when I have wondered if it would be a good idea just to erase that knowledge," she said.

This was also a potential minefield, so he decided it was best to be honest. "I can't really give an opinion on that," he said. "You could say I had a vested interest." She looked at him sharply, but her expression smoothed when she saw the grin that meant he intended it in a humorous way. He turned serious again. "If I weren't in love with you and you asked my advice, I would say that you should give it a lot of thought before you did so. On the one hand--"

"Say that again," Dorothy interrupted.

"Huh? If you asked my advice..." Roger began.

"Before that," she interrupted again, "but after the part about having a vested interest."

"If I weren't in love with you?" his mouth felt dry and he quickly took a sip of his drink. Why the hell did he always get so nervous when he tried to talk about how he felt?

"That's it," she said. "Thank you, Roger. Please continue."

He looked at her, utterly confused. That was all? She didn't want him to say anything more? He wasn't sure of how to respond, so he fumbled to pick up his original train of thought. "On... on the one hand, it makes sense that you don't want that knowledge because of the memories that go along with it, and the assumptions people make about you," his voice steadied as he recalled what he'd intended to say. "On the other hand, you paid dearly for it, and using it--or not!--on your own terms might reduce the impact of those memories. If I had no involvement in the situation, I would advise you to err on the side of keeping them, because you can always remove them later. I am," he added, "assuming that such a removal would be permanent."

"Yes, it would be," she nodded. "That's very helpful, I don't think I'd thought about it in terms of how much I'd paid until you mentioned it just now." He put an arm around her and she leaned against his shoulder. "I did pay dearly for that knowledge, because it ultimately caused a falling-out between Michael Soldano and my father," she said. "When my father suggested they use a pleasure android body, Soldano didn't think anything of it, because those are the most human-like and the most responsive. But then my father wanted the specialized programming as well, and they had a terrible argument. I liked Michael Soldano. I used to call him Uncle Mike. He spent a lot of time with me before the fight. He was the one who helped me learn to walk and talk and sing, and he was always kind to me. When they fought, he said that I'd be ruined and if my father insisted on the installation, he wanted nothing more to do with me."

"I can't begin to imagine what that was like," Roger said, pulling her closer.

"I was very angry with him," Dorothy said softly. "The way he acted when you came to ransom me just made me even angrier. That's why I was said what I did when we found him in the office, but when he called me Nightingale and said I was his real daughter, I understood he was telling me he was sorry for the horrible things he'd said. I was glad you said a prayer for him, because he was a good man, and I'll always think of him as my _real _father."

"I think he'd be proud of you," Roger said. "Speaking for myself, I have nothing but respect and admiration for how you've handled your circumstances."

Dorothy took his free hand and squeezed it to take any sting out of her words. "What's in that whiskey, Roger Smith? That's twice in ten minutes that you've spoken of your feelings for me."

He was relaxed enough now that he just laughed in acknowledgment of the truth of her words.. "Maybe Norman put some truth serum in it," he said. He took her chin in his hand and tilted it so he could look directly into her eyes. "Shall we go for three in ten, since I seem to be on a roll?"

She gave him the little smile that meant she was amused. "Be careful not to overdo it, you don't want to regret it in the morning."

"Oh, I don't think I'll regret it in the morning. As a matter of fact, my only possible regret is that I didn't tell you sooner." He took a deep breath, refusing to let his nerves get the better of him this time. "I love you, Miss R. E. Dorothy Wayneright." Her eyes went wide with surprise, and he kissed her before she could say another word.


	12. Chapter 12

"But I _work_ there!" Beck protested as the Military Police officer shoved him into the cell. "You don't have to take my word for it, call the owner!"

"We've already talked to the owner," the officer said, closing the door behind him with a decisive clang of metal against metal.

Jason sat on the edge of the bunk, his head in his hands. Surely they'd realize it was a mistake, and they'd either release him or someone would come to bail him out. He hadn't done anything wrong! He'd never steal from Tate, they'd made a deal!

It wasn't until the sky began to brighten that Jason could admit to himself that no one would be coming to get him.

* * *

"If you'll only cooperate, we'll get you out of here." The speaker reminded him uncomfortably of Alan Gabriel, though he didn't look anything like him.

"You've got the wrong guy," Jason said. "I don't know what you're talking about. I told you, I'm an art buyer."

"I have it on good authority that your art career is a recent one," the man said. "I'm not going to argue with you, Mr. Beck. We'll see how you feel in a few days." To Jason's relief, he turned and left the cell, making a great show of slamming the door and locking it behind him.

Jason was pretty sure he was on The Island. He'd finally dozed off in the holding cell, only to be rudely awakened an hour or so later. He'd demanded his phone call and asked about a hearing and was slugged in the jaw for his trouble. When he came to, he was in a cell that was even tinier than the one he'd occupied just before The Event. There was no window, so he figured he was in the east wing of the prison, where they kept prisoners who'd drawn solitary for one infraction or another. He'd spent a day in one of these cells once before, after getting into a brawl with another inmate.

By his best estimation, it was now Monday. He assumed they'd brought him over on Sunday morning, and he didn't think he'd been unconscious for very long. It seemed like hours before the lights went out, and there had been no meal to break the monotony. He'd had a restless night, and been woken by a loud buzzer and the lights turning back on.

This didn't make _sense_! They didn't just take a man from a holding cell and dump him into the main prison without so much as a hearing, let alone put him into solitary! And now Alan Gabriel's spiritual brother was showing up to make him an offer he couldn't refuse? He remembered perfectly well how that had turned out last time. Thanks, but no thanks! He touched his jaw gingerly. He didn't have a mirror, but he'd bet he had one hell of a bruise, if the tenderness was any indication.

The cop who'd arrested him was legit, Jason was sure of that. The man had been polite and professional, and had only brought Jason in because he'd been told there was a possible warrant. Beck knew there was no warrant, but the cop didn't know that. He'd had managed to stay reasonably calm and cooperative, knowing the man was only trying to do his job.

That officer had to go back for his partner, who had stayed at the scene to gather evidence, and another cop had booked him. That one had been a hard-ass, he'd been the one to shove Jason into the cell and punch him in the jaw in the morning. Jason closed his eyes, trying to remember if the cop had been wearing a name tag, but nothing came to him. He sighed. The best thing he could hope for now is that Tate would have a chance to calm down, check the safe and cash register, and realize that Jason hadn't stolen anything.

* * *

"Hit him again!" Missy crowed with delight as Roger scored a touch on Big Trey.

"I'll do my best," Roger smiled at the child's enthusiasm. She'd done so well these last few weeks that Big O had suggested that she be allowed to come with him and Jake when they went out for training exercises. At first Roger worried that it might be too dangerous, but it turned out that there was a jump seat that could be extended from the side wall, complete with safety webbing. It was from the early days of the war, Norman explained, when important people might need to be transported though combat to a place of safety. By unspoken agreement, he and Jake had limited their practice to basic sparring, concentrating on evasive maneuvers.

"Why is that green light flashing?" Missy asked as Big Trey scored a solid return punch to Big O's chest.

"Norman's calling us," Roger said, taking two steps backwards and lifting Big O's hand in the gesture that told Jake a time out was required.

"Master Roger, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a gentleman here to see you. His name is Sam Tate," the butler said. Why did that name sound so familiar? The answer came a split-second later. "He's the owner of Tate Gallery, where Jason Beck has been working. Apparently Mr. Beck has disappeared."

* * *

"It's obvious there's no love lost between you and Jason Beck," Tate said, "but the boy wasn't stealing from me. I got a call from the Military Police at about ten that they'd discovered him breaking into my safe. Of course I was furious with him, he'd given me his word, and here they are telling me he's robbing my store! By the time I got there, he'd been taken away. I did a quick inventory, and discovered he'd been putting something _in_ the safe, not taking something _out_. There was a note. I found it under the desk, as if it had been kicked there. It said he was borrowing a briefcase and that he was going to put the things inside it in the safe, and sure enough, the pieces that had been in the case were inside. He'd even wrapped everything so nothing would be damaged."

"I'd think that if you went to the Military Police, you'd be able to straighten things out immediately if you're sure he wasn't robbing you," Roger said. "Why have you come to me?"

"I thought it would be simple too," Tate said, "but when I went down to the station a little after midnight, they said they had no record of him being in the lockup. I even went down to the magistrate first thing this morning thinking maybe there was just a clerical error and that he'd be there for a hearing, but he there was no sign of him. I went back to the station and tried to track him down again, but I wasn't getting anywhere with the desk sergeant and the investigating officer is off today. They say you're a pro, Mr. Smith. I want to know what happened to him."

"Do you have the note?" Roger asked.

"I have it right here," Tate handed it over along with a second sheet of paper. "There were two notes. The other one was in the cash drawer."

Roger looked both notes over. "Is the amount he says he took correct?"

"He's off by twenty in my favor," Tate said. "I found something strange, too. His suit was hanging on the office door, and his street shoes were in a bag. Everything was wet. We both keep spare clothes and shoes in the back room for dirty jobs, and his were missing. Whatever his emergency was, he must have been out in the rain for quite a while. His place isn't that far away from the gallery. Why would he go there for dry clothes instead of going home, unless for some reason he thought he _couldn't_ go home?"

"That does sound strange," Roger agreed. Part of him wanted to just forget about Jason Beck, but even if wasn't inclined to take the job from Tate, there was still the little matter of the programming Beck was supposed to be doing on Big Trey. Much as he hated Beck, he hated the idea of Big Trey being taken over by some power-hungry low-life even more. "If you don't mind waiting here for a few minutes, Mr. Tate, I'll make a few phone calls."

* * *

"I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind," Dastun said to Tate. Roger hadn't wanted to go into detail on the phone, so he'd arranged to meet Sam Tate at his gallery. After introducing them and sketching out what information they had so far, Roger had left to pursue a couple of possibilities he'd thought of.

"That's no problem," Tate said. "Can I get you a cup of coffee, Colonel?"

"I'd appreciate it," Dan said. Tate put up a "Back shortly" sign on the door and locked it, and he and Dastun went into the back office. While the coffee brewed, Tate showed him the suit and shoes, and the wrapped items from the safe.

"Jason lives about fifteen minutes away, so it doesn't make sense that he'd come here just to change his clothes," Tate said. "I could see him coming in to use the phone to get a cab if he'd been unexpectedly caught in the rain, but I don't know why he wanted the briefcase."

"Do you remember the name of the officer you spoke with?" Dastun asked.

"Yeah, it was Parker, I think. Andrew Parker," Tate poured the coffee and sat down.

"Well, Andy was on the evening shift on Saturday, I'll have to check and see if he filed a report," Dan said. "I got the impression that you hadn't spoken to Beck for a few days. Had there been a problem?"

"I'm sure he thought there was a problem, but I didn't," Tate chuckled. "He hadn't been in for a few days, he'd bought a painting sight unseen that turned out to be a fraud. The boy has a good eye and good judgment when it comes to art, and I know he was humiliated to have been taken in. I'd figured on giving him until Monday to sulk, and then I was going to give him a call."

"You weren't upset?" Dastun asked.

"Not at all," Tate said. "It's a hazard of the profession, and Jason had been very lucky in his purchases up until that point. It took him down a peg, but that's good, it will teach him to be more cautious. He's made both of us plenty of money, an occasional stinker is just the cost of doing business."

"So he had no need to steal," Dan said.

"No, he'd collected quite a bit in bonuses," Tate said. "As far as I know, he was living pretty modestly, didn't do much carousing. I think he's shown up with a hangover once since he started working here, and that was the day after his birthday when a little excessive celebration wasn't unexpected."

"When did he start working for you?" Dastun made a few notes on his notepad.

"Quite a while ago, more than a year," Tate told him, "I'd had a problem and asked around for the person best suited to solve it for me, and his name kept coming up. I did a little research on him, and it turned out that we were both raised in the same orphanage. I don't really remember it, of course, any more than most people do, it's just that I kept good records and was lucky enough to be in my apartment during the Event. Oh, I get bits and pieces, little flashes where I know to do something even though I don't remember _why_ I know to do it, and that seemed to come into play when I interviewed Jason. That sort of feeling is why I went in to take inventory immediately instead of just leaving it until the morning. I was _sure_ he wouldn't betray me, for all that I was furious, and as soon as I found those notes, I knew something was wrong."

"He was someone we kept an eye on for a time," Dastun said, "but since he started working for you, he seems to have turned over a new leaf."

"That's what I'd hoped for," Tate said. "He's bright, that boy, but he had a severe shortage of common sense, and he was prideful as hell. That's a bad combination. He was interested in the art, so I saw no harm in encouraging it, and as it turned out, he has a real calling for it.." He drained the last of his coffee. "So what happens now?"

"First thing is to find out if he's in the system," Dastun said. "We know approximately what time he was brought in, so even if he didn't give his real name, we can find out if they turned him loose or put him in a cell. If they kept him, we'll try to track down exactly where they put him. I'm not sure he was booked, though, especially because you didn't see him brought before the magistrate on Monday morning. If he wasn't jailed, I'll open a missing-persons case because there's enough evidence to suggest that he didn't disappear of his own free will. If he did go into hiding, Roger Smith may be able to track him down, or at least get word to him."

"Do you need the suit?" Tate asked. "I was thinking of sending it down to the cleaners so he'll have it when he comes back."

"Nothing in the pockets," Dan said after a quick check. "I see no reason to take it--it's dry now, no matter how wet it was when you first found it."

"I wonder if it had anything to do with that pretty little android he goes to see," Tate said. At Dan's startled expression, he laughed. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you just gave it all away," he said. "Jason didn't talk to me about it, if that's what you're worried about. I knew something was up because I'm not blind and I'm not stupid. At first I thought he was chasing the girl--his heart's in his eyes every time he looks at her, although I'm not sure he realizes it. But then I found out that she was the one the town gossips were wagging their tongues over, and I also knew there was bad blood between him and Roger Smith, so it seemed pretty unlikely that she'd be socializing. Given the work Jason did for me when we first met, I realized it had to be something similar, so I didn't ask questions, and he didn't volunteer any information."

"He does have some rather specialized skills," Dan said cautiously.

"Specialized! Hah!" the old man cackled. "That's a nice way of putting it!"

Dastun grinned in spite of himself. "I'm just as happy he found a new calling," he admitted.

"That's what worries me, though, that it's related to that other knowledge," Tate said. "There's one last thing I need to tell you. About two weeks ago, someone came by making like he was a customer but asking a lot of questions about Jason. I played stupid, claimed I'd met him because he'd found some artwork and that it eventually led to us dealing together on a regular basis. He seemed to accept it and left, and I haven't seen him since. At the time, I thought maybe it was someone who was thinking about using Jason for an agent and wanted to check him out and make sure he was legit. But given what's happened... now I'm not so sure."

"I'm not so sure either," Dan said, finishing up with his notes and putting the pad of paper into his pocket. He rose and extended his hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Tate. I'll call you as soon as I have anything."

"Even if you don't, I'd appreciate a progress report," Tate said, accepting the handshake and seeing Dan to the door. "I'll call you if I hear anything."

* * *

Jason sat up with a jolt when the lights went out. He'd stretched out on his bunk and had been working on the program for Big Trey in his head as a way of helping to pass the time. There still hadn't been any food, and he was getting awfully hungry. Water wasn't a problem, there was a tiny sink next to the commode in the corner, although the tap only gave a trickle of liquid, probably to keep the occupant from flooding the cell. Were they trying to soften him up? He was fine for now, but he wasn't sure how he'd feel after a week or two.

There was one thing he knew. He'd rather die than be back in the position he'd been in when he removed Dorothy's memory. He hoped it didn't come down to that, but now that he'd had a real taste of the kind of life he'd always wanted, he had no intention of giving it up. He flopped back down on the bunk and went back to the program in his mind. He might as well get something useful accomplished, it would keep him from worrying.

* * *

"Did you have any luck?" Dorothy asked. They had gone up to the solarium after dinner and were discussing the day's events.

"It's like he dropped off the face of the earth," Roger said, wishing for a more romantic topic than Jason Beck. "Nobody's seen him at any of his usual haunts, he hasn't been hitting the bars with the people he normally spends time with, and although Big Ear warned us that someone was looking for information on Big Trey, he hasn't heard anything further. Whoever is behind this is either very discreet, or has their own ways of getting information."

"I hope he wasn't kidnapped for his knowledge of Big Trey" she said.

"He probably was released from the station and went on a toot to celebrate with some woman he met at a bar, with no idea everyone is looking for him," Roger said. "Give him a week or two, he's like a bad penny. He'll turn up."

"Perhaps," Dorothy said. "However, if that's not the case, the delay could cost us dearly. We can't afford to wait."

"No, I don't suppose we can," Roger said. "I've done all I can for today. Tomorrow I'm going to try to take a quick look around his apartment, see if there's any signs of a struggle. Dan will work his end over at Headquarters. The cop who Tate spoke to is an honest one, as far as Dan knows, but I'll be keeping an eye on him, too."

"All right," Dorothy said. To Roger's dismay, she rose from the couch, clearly intending to go back downstairs. "I have some things to finish off if I'm to get to bed at a decent hour," she said. "I thought over what you said about doing too much, and you're right. I'm of no use to anyone if I'm falling asleep the minute I sit still."

Hoist by his own petard. He made an effort to hide his disappointment. "What do you have left to do?" he asked, hoping he could lend a hand and buy some more time.

"Nothing you can help with, unfortunately," she said, apparently reading his mind. "I have to go through a set of contractor bids."

"Contractor?" he asked. "Did you decide to get an office after all?"

"No, it's one of the projects the foundation is now sponsoring," she said. "There is a group that arranges to have the heat turned on in apartment buildings that have at least five occupied apartments. They make an effort to locate the original owner through the old Paradigm Corporation records, and if none is found, they help the tenants to fill out the paperwork to claim the building and provide seed money to do basic repairs It's a very effective program, it not only assures the tenants of a decent place to live, it also reduces crime and prevents fires like the ones we've had the last few winters when people were burning things to keep warm. The contractors were my idea, to help the group develop contacts with local workers. The idea is to have the contractors provide their services at a discount, and their company gets publicity for their work."

"That's a good idea," Roger said. "So you put out a request for bids?"

"Yes, and the bidding period ended two days ago so I have to go through them all, choose five, and write the appropriate letter for each," Dorothy said. "I don't expect to complete the job tonight, but I'd like to have made a good start. Usually the crews can work until the end of November, and if these bids are acted on promptly, they should be able to complete fifteen or twenty more buildings before the really cold weather arrives."

He nodded. There would, he reminded himself, be other evenings. "I think I'll catch up on some of my paperwork, since you're setting such a good example," he said, and followed her down the stairs.

* * *

Dastun was kept busy dealing with one crisis after another on Tuesday morning. It was nearly two when he finally cleared his desk enough that he could turn his attention to finding out what had happened to Jason Beck. The first thing he did was read Parker's report, which was short and to the point. Beck had been found in the office of Tate's gallery under suspicious circumstances, he'd been polite and cooperative and gone to the station with Parker without incident. He dug out Parker's home phone number from his address book--he hated to call his men at home, but he didn't want to wait until Parker came in at four. Happily, he didn't have to wake him.

"Yes, sir, I did take him in," Parker said. "To be honest with you, I found his story credible. There was no sign of forced entry, the alarm panel appeared to be working, and he was startled to see me standing there but not the least bit furtive. Had it been up to me, I would have waited until the owner got there to verify he was an employee, but HQ told me there was a possible warrant on him and asked me to bring him in for identification. Is there a problem, sir?"

"He's disappeared and we're trying to find out what happened to him," Dan said. "Did you do the intake?"

"I turned him over to Atwell, sir, then I went back to the shop to pick up my partner." Parker said.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself for the moment, " Dastun said. "There's something irregular here and I want to get to the bottom of it. Thank you for your time, I'm sorry to have had to bother you at home." The next step was to look at the weekend video tapes.

An hour later, he was even more certain that there was something very wrong. The tapes showed that Beck had been fingerprinted, photographed, and taken to a holding cell, which verified Parker's story, as did Parker's partner, who said that Andy had only been gone for about twenty minutes, just enough time to go to the station, drop Beck off, and return.

As far as Dan could tell from the tapes, Beck never came out again, at least, not through the front door. Sunday's tapes were even less helpful--apparently the cassette had gone bad, and the video was too distorted and full of noise to give him any hint as to what had happened next. Atwell claimed Beck was still in the holding cell when he'd left, saying he'd checked it last around six am and saw the prisoner was sleeping, but Skip Johnson, the desk sergeant who'd relieved Atwell, insisted that the holding cell had been empty when he made his walk-through when he first came on-shift. Johnson told him there'd been no mention of a prisoner on the report and that Atwell hadn't said anything to him. either.

Either Atwell or Johnson had to be lying, and he didn't know either of them well enough to have a gut feeling one way or the other. When he went in search of the tapes from the camera at the back door, he found its Sunday tape had the same apparent problems as the front desk tape. This could be ominous, or it could just be that someone had reviewed the Sunday tapes at one point--they were reused each week--and had unwittingly damaged them. No one would have realized there was a problem if no one had needed to review them--the Military Police were currently spread too thin to spare a man to skim through the tapes each week.

He left a message for Roger with Norman, giving him the names of the two officers so that Roger could do a little investigating,

"Sir?" He looked up to see Parker at the door. The officer had several sheets of paper in his hand. Was it already four? No, it was only three unless his watch had stopped. "I came in a little early because I thought of something you might want to know about," Parker said,.

"Come in," Dan waved him to a chair.

After closing the door and taking a seat, Parker leaned forward and pitched his voice low. "This might be useful, sir, it has to do with Atwood and Hamilton. You probably haven't met him," he added at Dastun's blank look, "he's the night mechanic. Anyway, I didn't think of this until a little while ago. Hamilton was having an argument with Atwood early Sunday morning, just before shift change. I couldn't make out much of what they were saying, and my partner needed me to help him finish up the reports so I wasn't there long enough to hear much, but Hamilton was griping about releasing one of the unmarked cars for joy-riding--said if Atwood wanted to take one, he had to sign it out."

"I'll have to get the sign out sheets," Dan said.

"I have copies here, sir." Parker handed him the papers. "It looks like Hamilton won the argument."

* * *

"His apartment was ransacked." Roger stopped by Dastun's office after paying a visit to Jason's building early Wednesday morning. "I don't think they found what they were looking for, either, because it looked to me like some of the mess was pure destructiveness." At Dan's raised eyebrow, he grinned. "Don't worry, we didn't break any laws. Dorothy and I went over, and we made a show of knocking on the door several times. When there was no answer, Dorothy told the landlady that she was worried that he needed help and asked her to look in on him. Surprisingly enough, he's a good tenant, and she hadn't seen him for a few days and was worried too. She got her keys and opened the door, and saw everything all over the place. She was very upset, so we got her calmed down a little and had her call the police."

"I saw the report," Dastun said. "I spent my morning on the phone trying to find out if he was being held on the Island. They said there was no record of him. I asked one of the guards to go and physically check, and I'm waiting for him to get back to me. That of course assumes that the car that was signed out during the time during which he's unaccounted for did in fact go over to the Island and didn't stop and drop him off somewhere."

"Sir?" A young, uniformed officer knocked on the door jamb and stuck his head inside the open door. "There's a call for you on line 2 from the Island Jail. Sorry to interrupt, but I knew you were waiting for it."

"Excellent," Dan picked up the phone and fumbled with the buttons . "Dastun here."

Roger watched Dan's expression run the gamut from hopeful to resigned as he quickly scribbled notes on a pad of paper. "No news?" Roger asked as Dan hung up the phone with a sigh.

"Not the news we wanted," Dan said. "A prisoner was delivered to them early on Sunday morning. Apparently he was unconscious, so the guard on duty ordered him sent to the infirmary. That's where the trail goes cold, because he never made it there. The guard I spoke to said there was no one matching his description in the general population. and he said there's no one in solitary right now. Normally, that would be the end of it, but knowing we have someone on the take here at Headquarters makes me wonder if he's got a buddy over at the Island who's covering for him."

"You know, rank hath its privileges," Roger said thoughtfully. "When was the last time there was a surprise inspection?"

"Not for months," Dastun said, suddenly understanding. "You're right, the best way to be sure is to go and look ourselves." He hit the switch on the intercom. "Burke, I'd like you to bring the car around."

* * *

The tap wasn't working any more. Jason wanted to pace the cell, but knew he needed to conserve his energy. A man could live weeks without food, but water was another matter entirely. They were probably planning to let him get good and thirsty and then they'd make another offer he couldn't refuse.

He wondered if he could tough it out. If they _really_ wanted what he knew, it was unlikely they would kill him--dead, he'd be no use at all. The question was how far they were willing to go.

A buzzing sound and then slam of a heavy metal door broke into his awareness, and he wondered if it would do him any good to call out.

He listened for a moment more and sat up, seized by a sudden hope. It sounded like more than one person, and somehow, he didn't think it had anything to do with rounds. Were they bringing a batch of prisoners in? He heard cell doors opening and closing and wondered if there had been a riot or something. "This one's locked," he heard an indistinct voice through the thick door.

"Open it up!" That almost sounded like Colonel Dastun, but why would he be here?"

He heard the rattle of the key in the lock, and then the door opened. "Never thought I'd be happy to see _your_ face," he said to Roger Smith.

"I can leave if you'd prefer." Roger's response didn't have half of the usual rancor in it.

"Thanks anyway," Jason stood shakily, unsure if his lightheadedness was from hunger or sheer relief. "Does this mean I can go home now?"

* * *

The guards who had accompanied Dastun on the inspection were horrified when they found out he'd been there since Sunday. One of them guided him to the infirmary so the medic could give him a quick once over, while the other insisted on going to his locker to get his own lunch. Beck could tell that Dastun was bursting with questions, but to his relief, nothing was said until he'd gotten some food and water and had a hot shower. The clothes they lent him didn't fit very well, but they were at least clean, and Jason was happy to sit in one of the offices and sip a hot cup of coffee that tasted like heaven while Dastun barked orders and everyone else scurried to obey them.

By the time Dastun was ready to leave, Jason felt a lot better. "I've taken the liberty of calling Sam Tate," Dan told him. "He's very relieved we found you, and as long as you don't have any objection, he wanted us to bring you by."

"That's fine by me," he said. One of the guards had found his wallet and watch, and his identification was intact although the cash was missing. Now that he knew he had access to his money, he wasn't in any hurry to go back to his apartment. Roger Smith had confirmed his suspicion that it had been ransacked, and he wasn't in any shape to try to clean up a mess at this moment. After he talked to Tate, he intended to head straight to the nearest hotel, get himself a good dinner, and get some sleep in a nice, comfortable bed!

When they went out to the ferry, Smith didn't join them at the dock. Mr. Paradigm City Negotiator had apparently gone off to negotiate something. Jason was just as happy not to have to ride with him.

Dastun debriefed him on the way to Tate's, although Beck didn't have much to tell him that they hadn't already managed to piece together. "Nothing wrong with that plan, you just got unlucky," Dan said when Jason explained about seeing the two men lurking near the door of his apartment building, being chased, and his decision to go to the gallery before going to a hotel for the weekend. He described the man who'd visited his cell, promising to stop by to see the composite artist over the next few days. Dan told him about his and Roger's end of the search, and Beck was pleased to hear that the cop who had punched him, Atwood, was now sitting in the very same holding cell at the station. Dastun promised a full investigation. "Obviously, there was someone on the inside of the prison as well, so we'll have to do some housecleaning there. We'll get to the bottom of this," he assured Jason.

"I just want to stop at the bank, if you don't mind," Beck said. The matter of the missing cash was weighing on him, he didn't want to leave Tate short.

Dastun laughed. "Guess I owe Sam half a dozen doughnuts," he said, leaning forward and asking the driver to stop at the nearest coffee shop. "He predicted you would ask to do that, and when you did, I was to tell you not to worry about it for the moment," he said, settling back against the seat again. "He said that you can settle up after you've had a couple of days to recover."

Jason nodded, feeling ridiculously tired for someone who had just spent the better part of four days sitting around in a cell. They stopped to pick up the doughnuts, but to Jason's surprise, they didn't turn towards the gallery. "I thought we were going to Tate's," he said.

"Yes, he's at home," Dan said. "He said he was going to close up early."

"I would never steal from him," Jason said. He figured Dastun knew, but he wanted to say it out loud.

"He knows that," Dan said. "If it weren't for him, we might not have found you--he was beating a path to Roger Smith's door first thing Monday morning when he didn't see you at the magistrate's session."

Beck was glad when the car stopped in front of Tate's building a moment later--he had the feeling that if he let himself dwell on the fact that the old man actually gave a crap about what happened to him, he'd break down and blubber like a little kid. It had to be the aftereffects of no human contact for four days, he didn't think he was going soft.

Tate met them at the door. "So you've finally turned up!" his voice was gruff with relief. "I see I won our little bet, Colonel."

Dan laughed and handed over the doughnuts. "I've got to get back to Headquarters," he said. "If you think of anything, just call the office."

"Will do," Jason promised. "Thanks for getting me out," he said. "No hard feelings." Honestly, he was too relieved to be angry.

"You're welcome," Dan said, looking a little surprised. "Don't hesitate to call if you see any suspicious characters."

"I'll have to take down all the mirrors or I'll be calling every ten minutes," Jason said. Dan grinned in spite of himself and offered a lazy salute as he headed back to the waiting car.

Jason sat down at the kitchen table and let Tate fuss over him for a while. He ate the bowl of soup the old man put down in front of him and tried to make conversation for a while, but his eyes kept threatening to close on him. "What you need now is a good night's sleep," Tate said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I made up the bed in the spare room. We can talk tomorrow."

* * *

The world looked a hell of a lot better when you were dressed in a freshly-cleaned suit and had a good breakfast in you! Jason stepped back and admired the horrible painting he'd bought, which had been hung in a place of honor next to several others in the back office. "Every time I start getting overconfident, I look at them to remind myself that I'm just as much of a sucker as anyone," Tate chuckled. Jason hadn't really thought about those paintings, he'd assumed they were unsalable ones that had been part of an estate or auction lot. He had no idea that they were Tate's own mistakes. "Even with all the knowledge in the world, boy, you're going to get taken now and then," the old man told him. "Sure, if it was happening once a week, we'd have to have a talk, but overall you've done real well. Your instincts didn't steer you wrong, either, you had a feeling something wasn't quite right. If you run into that situation again, call me at home. We'll decide together, and if we get taken, well, we'll be equally to blame."

Tate wouldn't let him repay the money either. "We'll file a claim with the Military Police. Believe me, they're so relieved that you haven't run screaming to the papers about being falsely imprisoned that they'll pay up gladly. You need your money, you're going to have to hire a security guard or move to a more secure apartment."

"The landlady was talking about getting a door man a while ago," Jason said. "Maybe I can offer to chip in for it or something. I kind of like the location, it's convenient, and she keeps things in real nice shape."

"That might be enough to get her to do it," Tate agreed. "You're welcome to stay for the next couple of days."

Jason's initial impulse was to decline, but until things were arranged, it was better that he not stay there by himself. "It's probably a good idea," he admitted. "I figured I'd stop by my place later to see how bad it was and get some fresh clothes."

"I'll go with you if you don't mind waiting until we close up," Tate said. "Or you can call the agency I use for when I've got to transport something really valuable. I'm sure you want to get over there just so you know what you're dealing with."

"Pretty much," Jason said. "What's their number?"

* * *

"I thought I would find you here," Dorothy had politely waited while the security guard announced her. She inspected the bruise on his jaw with interest. "Those are spectacular colors," she said.

Jason ignored her. He was looking mournfully at his desk, which was lying at a strange angle due to the two front legs having been snapped off. "My desk... they broke it!"

"I'm sure it can be repaired," Dorothy knelt and examined one of the broken off legs. She hunted around on the floor for a minute and came up with the chunk that had split off the side of the leg. "This is real wood, which means they can glue it back together, sand down the seam a little and put some fresh finish on it. It will be good as new."

That made him feel better. He was fond of that desk, it was the first piece of furniture he'd ever purchased, and he'd paid quite a bit for it. "Where would I get it repaired?" he asked, looking around for the other leg. Dorothy rattled off a name and number and Jason laughed. He found pen and paper and had her say it more slowly so he could write it down. "So what brings you here today, Miss Wayneright?" he asked.

"I wanted to talk to you about Big--" she began, but Jason quickly cut her off.

"The big mess?" he asked said, making a cut-off gesture with his hand. "What, are you here to help?"

"If you wish," she said. She looked puzzled but helped him to pick up the bureau and set it back where it belonged.

"I think I'm going to need a new bed" Jason said when he saw that the mattress cover had been slashed and the springs were sticking out of it. They'd been nothing if not thorough. "Here, help me take this out back," he said. They wrestled the mattress down the stairs and leaned it against the dumpster. "All right," he said, looking around. "Talk fast."

"Why didn't you want to talk in your apartment?" she asked.

"Because they may have done more than rip the place apart, they may have planted a bug or two," Jason said. "I'm not going to discuss anything in there until I've had a chance to go through it carefully. What did you want to tell me?"

"I have the override codes," Dorothy said. "We can test again as soon as you've had a chance to take care of things."

"Monday," Jason said. "Can you meet me over at the garage at three?"

"That's fine," Dorothy said.

He was surprised when she followed him back up the stairs, but he was glad of the help. They worked for another forty-five minutes before she said "I have to leave now. Would you like me to come back tomorrow?"

"I think we've gotten the worst of it," Jason said, looking around. "Now that the furniture is where it belongs, I can start putting things away. Better get home before Crow-Boy gets all huffy about you being here without a chaperone." He looked at her and grinned at the definite quirk to the corners of her mouth. He walked her to the door and watched as she started down the stairs. "Oh, by the way... thanks!" he called down after her. She nodded acknowledgement and continued on her way.

He went back inside and looked around. The unexpected help had made it possible to get a lot more done than he'd planned. He definitely wanted to take care of his desk today. He went and found the drawer with the false bottom and was pleased to discover his notes just as he had left them. The seller had assured him that it was so cleverly made that even someone who knew it was there might have trouble finding it, and he was glad the merchant had been correct.

He folded the papers and put them in the inside pocket of his jacket, then neatly stacked the empty drawers next to the desk and put the broken legs and pieces of wood into the drawer on top of the pile, then got the piece of paper with the repair shop's phone number.

The person who answered the phone said they could pick up the desk in an hour, so Jason concentrated on putting his bureau back together. There were a few things that needed to be washed, stepped on, most likely, but most of them just needed to be shaken out and refolded. By the time the truck arrived to pick up the desk, Jason had put all his clothes away and packed an overnight bag with some spares. He was right about his stash being gone, but they'd missed the small roll of twenties he'd stuffed into one of his pairs of socks, which at least meant he could order a new bed and mattress tomorrow, and offer to spring for dinner tonight. What he really wanted was a good steak!

Too bad he hadn't thought to ask Dorothy to clean out the refrigerator for him. He held his breath as he loaded all the spoiled food into a bag and got it outside as quickly as possible. That was enough for today. Tomorrow he'd go to a department store to replace the lamp and a few odds and ends that had been damaged beyond repair. Hopefully his landlady would be home so he could talk to her. He called a cab, and a short time later, he and his body guard were headed back to Tate's place.


End file.
